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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353404">A Witch in Paris (Yours, Hecate)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathtrash/pseuds/heathtrash'>heathtrash</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Worst Witch (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Autumn, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hecate Makes Friends, Letters, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Paris (City), Remix, Slow Burn, Some Occasional French, Useless Lesbians, Winter, Yuletide</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:01:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heathtrash/pseuds/heathtrash</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hecate Hardbroom has had an offer to study in Paris, and Ada encourages her to take a sabbatical to pursue it. When they start exchanging letters, Hecate realises there might be something more going on between her and her headmistress.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Amelia Cackle | Ada Cackle/Hardbroom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Worst Witch Remix</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Septembre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiline/gifts">Emiline</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137992">Between the Lines (I remain, affectionately yours)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiline/pseuds/Emiline">Emiline</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was unusual for a member of staff at Cackle’s to take a sabbatical, but Ada Cackle had practically pushed Hecate out of the door.</p><p>Hecate had heard, on perusing the <i>Cauldron Review</i> over the Summer break, that the Association européenne de sorcellerie had approved new funding for the Académie des botanistes, with which they had acquired a new collection of original source material for their library. She had written right away to enquire whether facsimiles of some of the texts could be sent by broom-mail, but after an impassioned exchange of letters, the head archivist, Mlle Papillon, had invited her to spend the autumn term with them in their greenhouse laboratories, with some of the greatest academics in the field, as well as being in walking distance of the Bibliothèque de botanique and the Bibliothèque nationale de magie, which held some incredibly valuable primary sources on display, and had the most beautiful reading rooms. There was even scope for her to teach, should she wish.</p><p>Such an offer Hecate was loathed to refuse. Ada, upon seeing how excited Hecate had been, opening the letters stamped with the emblem of the Académie des botanistes with much vim at the staff dining table at breakfast in the lead up to term, had told her that in no uncertain terms was she going to allow Hecate to pass up this chance. Before Hecate knew it, Ada had arranged a cover teacher for her and demanded that she pack her bags.</p><p>Her long-distance transfer was regulated through the Ambassade internationale de magie, where she would have to register that she would be living and working in the capital for a period of four months. Arriving at her designated timeslot in the transference hall in Paris, Hecate proceeded through the embassy’s long and arduous process of checking paperwork—which she had mostly completed prior to arriving, and the length of the process was mostly due to waiting on having her forms approved. She sighed as she sat on a bench with dozens of other witches and wizards in a vast purple room with intricate white plasterwork on the ceilings.</p><p>Being that it was the time of year for new and returning students to arrive for their university courses, the hall was inundated with young witches and wizards—presumably those fortunate enough to attend any of the colleges of the Université de magie, Paris—some of whom she imagined she might be teaching if she had the chance. She cast her eye around for former Cackle’s alumnae, but could see none that she recognised.</p><p>Eventually, her name was called, and she approached the desk of an altogether too perky clerk, who went over her paperwork to verify her identity and purpose of travel, and gave her a welcome pack from the Association européenne de sorcellerie, including the French regulations for Magical and Ordinary relations, the <i>British Witches’ Guide to Paris</i>, and the key to the residence that had been arranged for her by the Education board of the Magic Council. Upon being asked if she had any items to declare, Hecate gave the clerk an inventory of her belongings in perhaps slightly too much detail.</p><p>“—And here is my familiar, Morgana,” Hecate said, a touch of nervousness in her voice as she indicated the basket in which Morgana was presently snoozing, curled up into a neat circle.</p><p>“Très mignonne,” the clerk said with a smile, before stamping the forms with dark green ink. “Welcome to Paris, Mlle Hardbroom. I hope you enjoy your residency.”</p>
<hr/><p>Hecate stepped out into the brilliant light with Morgana’s basket hooked over one arm, and carrying her suitcase in the other. The door of the Ambassade internationale de magie had ejected her out onto the street that she was told was where her accommodation had been arranged for her—upon looking about, she was confident that she had been transferred to a quieter part of the road and would have to make her own way towards the residence in which she was to stay for the next few months.</p><p>Cities were abjectly unfamiliar territory for Hecate. She felt as though she were being closed in by tall buildings lined with rows and rows of windows looming over her with their stony façades and wrought iron balconies. She had spent very little time in any kind of built-up area, and the contrast between Cackle’s and this was too great to ponder. She <i>had</i> been on research trips before—but to small witching communities, isolated private collections, and various libraries off the beaten path. This was several orders of magnitude greater in terms of size, and made Cackle’s, even with all its students and staff and each of their familiars, look like it could fit on the head of a pin.</p><p>As she progressed, the amount of foot traffic increased. The wall of sound around her was inordinately loud—when she was not being overwhelmed by the multitudes of conversations happening all at once around her, she was jumping as every vehicle passing by came into her peripheral accompanied by a roar of engines. A plaintive mewling from the basket told her that Morgana was not enjoying the experience at all either.</p><p>Hecate found herself being ferried along with the flow of people—navigating around bicycles attached to poles on the footpaths and the tumult of the lunchtime rush—avoiding attendants standing outside elegant shop fronts that seemed more like palaces than places one could purchase items, trying to exchange eye contact with her—past restaurants with patrons sitting, watching as she went by. Hecate wondered why her appearance warranted such attention—but swept on forwards, hoping that there was not already some part of the Magical and Ordinary relations that she had broken.</p><p>She wished she had cast a stronger featherweight spell on her suitcase, because as her anxiety grew, the suitcase became more of a dead weight in her hand, cutting painfully into her fingers with the weight of all the contents in its expanded capacity. It did not help that she felt like her senses were being assaulted by strange sights, sounds, and smells—window displays so elaborate she hardly knew what they were selling—more conversation around her than she knew how to process—perfumed doorways—all, all too much.</p><p>Hecate felt a lump of panic forming in her throat. It was far from frequent that she found herself in such close quarters with Ordinary kind. In truth, she was frightened lest she should accidentally let the entire secret of witchcraft tumble from her arms—or that she would cast a spell as a thoughtless reaction to a surprise and expose magic to the Ordinary world. She steeled herself and focused hard on being vigilant.</p><p>The narrow street grew wider and busier—Hecate could sense Morgana becoming increasingly agitated the further they delved into the city. They reached a place where she had to pause behind a crowd at an intersection of roads roaring with vehicles, where white lines were painted in a pathway across the road. Hecate wondered what all the people—with what looked like pens in their mouths—were doing, until they exhaled a cloud of vapour, and she realised that it was some form of smoking pipe. She coughed pointedly as she had to endure someone breathed out the noxious yet oddly sweet-smelling smoke in her direction, while another person near her looked into Morgana’s basket and cooed over the quaking ball of darkness inside. Hecate drew her arm closer into her body—these Ordinaries clearly thought she was some sort of pet. The crowd in front of her gradually shifted forwards, and she followed behind, frustrated that she could not march forth at her usual stride.</p><p>When Hecate finally arrived at her destination, she was shocked. She had been expecting something small and functional—a spartan bedsit tucked away in the third floor of a mews house, perhaps with a tight spiral staircase that creaked and a door with paint peeling away in thick layers where it had been continually refreshed over wood that suffered from damp conditions—but instead, she found herself unlocking an elegant front door on rue Saint-Honoré in the 1st arrondissement of Paris.</p><p>Once inside, Hecate found it was cool, as if a breeze were emitting from the ceiling itself. She distrustfully narrowed her eyes towards the shining metal doors of what she assumed was a lift—and instead ascended a very clean white staircase to a landing on the first floor, where she found the entrance to an flat that matched the number on the key fob.</p><p>Hecate set down Morgana’s basket to let her free. Morgana hesitantly sniffed outside the safety of her basket, before retreating back inside. The poor creature was still traumatised from the city outside, and Hecate could not blame her, since she was feeling just as rattled. She scooped Morgana up into her arms and cradled her. Morgana set her paws on Hecate’s shoulder and bunted her soft head against Hecate’s ear.</p><p>The flat was a very modern-looking affair—the living room housed angular black leather sofas and white wooden furniture, centred mainly around the flat rectangular panel of some piece of Ordinary electronic device on the wall like a mirror. Large windows looked out over the street, where she could see down quite some way, and opened out onto a balcony. The open-plan kitchen was outfitted with all of the Ordinary conveniences, including a sizeable oven, a fridge, and a contraption Hecate guessed was for the automatic washing of crockery. </p><p>Each room had all that it was meant to, plus some curiosities that Hecate assumed had value to Ordinaries. Some had obvious functions—to make up for a deficiency in magical capabilities—but there was, for example, a mysterious box which seemed to have the sole function of housing several lights that flickered. It had a handwritten note stuck to the side containing a series of letters and numbers. Hecate detached it from the wall and put it away in a cupboard out of sight.</p><p>She searched around for something critical to note—but all that she could really complain over was that the lodgings were <i>too</i> nice. They were certainly too Ordinary. She would have preferred that it were furnished with second-hand furniture made from wood that had breathed life elsewhere—that had history.</p><p>Her connections here had offered to let her stay with them—but of course, Hecate had been too stubborn and had refused. Her independence was at risk—she might have had to compromise on when she could enter or leave, and the earliness of her awakening hour. She did not wish to inconvenience anyone with her schedule, nor be cajoled into waiting for the other person to be ready to leave so they could go <i>together</i> somewhere, which would make her late.</p><p>Since Hecate was to stay here for a period of four months, she cast several spells to make the flat feel more accessible to her as a living space, including transforming one of the side-tables into a writing desk where she could properly work, and adjusted the height of one of the dining chairs so that it suited. There was unfortunately nothing to be done about the ugliness of the larger Ordinary contraptions, for she did not know their composition or even what they were called, and thought she might not be able to restore them to their original forms.</p><p>It dawned as she stood in the empty flat that she was now incredibly alone, in a foreign place in which she currently felt cut off from the witching world. The Ordinary trappings around her did nothing to assuage the feeling that she was in a place devoid of magic. Having spent most of her life in Cackle’s, to now stand here clinging to Morgana as her only link back to the magical world—Hecate had never known what it was like to have such a tangible distance between herself and magic.</p><p>Morgana shot out of her arms and underneath the bed as soon as she commenced unpacking her suitcase of her belongings: clothes (pristine and wrinkle-free thanks to a spell she had placed on each before folding them into the magically expanded suitcase), writing supplies, essential books (she had limited herself to twenty), a supply of potion ingredients and empty potion phials, a small cauldron, and a tin of her very favourite loose leaf black tea. She only hoped she would not deplete her resources of anything—particularly the dried herbs that she used for both potions and culinary purposes. </p><p>Tea was most certainly her next important task, for she was feeling at a loss from having unpacked and feeling that the place appeared barely different than it had done before—except now a series of jars stood along the counter, and a cast iron cauldron sat upon one of the oven hobs. Searching the cabinets, Hecate was relieved to find a proper teapot in the cabinets. She had almost brought her own, but had hoped it unnecessary. There was even a bone china teacup and saucer in an almost tasteful pattern.</p><p>Throwing a withering look at the electric kettle, Hecate heated the water in a glass pitcher with a tap of her finger and poured it over the leaves in the teapot, before settling down with the welcome pack from the Association européenne de sorcellerie. She read over the literature to calm herself, dutifully reviewing the differences between British and French regulations—and all about the arrondissement de la sorcellerie, which assured her that she would indeed have a place to restock her supplies or almost anything she might require. </p><p>As Hecate read on, sipping her tea, she was fascinated indeed to learn that the arrondissement de la sorcellerie, or the witching district, was not merely in one place, but expanded across the entirety of Paris, and through complicated use of spatial magic, miles of distance could be covered in mere steps. As she flicked on through the British Witches’ Guide to Paris, she discovered that entrances existed at many points and could be utilised as a means of travelling—one could step between doorways, as it were, and travel a great distance unseen by the Ordinary world.</p><p>As a topic of study, it was deeply intriguing to her and Hecate wished she had time to research further at some point—but that was not the reason she had come.</p><p>There was a map of such doorways, and instructions on how to reach the Ambassade internationale de magie once more—for one could not transfer directly into the witching district without the correct spell, since it existed in a separate magical echo of the city, and transference between these worked differently.</p><p>Perhaps she ought to write a letter to Ada to let her know that she had arrived safely—but no, that was unnecessary. She did not wish to bother her headmistress on such a trivial matter. No—she would restrict correspondence to salient updates on her research. Anything else was a waste of ink, and more importantly, of Ada’s time.</p>
<hr/><p>Hecate decided to set out in the afternoon to investigate the Académie des botanistes to meet with her contact and retrieve any necessary paperwork so that she could begin as soon as possible.</p><p>After her pot of tea, she was refreshed enough to face the outside world once more. She wrote a quick note to Mlle Papillon to inform her that she had arrived in Paris and was on her way so that she would be expecting her.</p><p>According to the map in her British Witches’ Guide to Paris, the Académie des botanistes was a short walk from where she was staying, located through a magically concealed passage in the 2nd arrondissement, not far from the Ordinary Bibliothèque nationale de France. She plotted her route carefully before leaving the building, </p><p>The streets seemed less daunting without the encumbrance of having to bear all her belongings—there were also fewer people about. She found herself delighted by the bouquet of fruit that met her nose as she passed a grocer’s displaying their bright produce outside, and the way the light played across the worn steps to some building, whose walls were pitted and growing with lichen.</p><p>Lining the streets were windows glittering with bijoux—mannequins gesturing to the skies in fashions so glamorous that they made Hecate feel humble to walk past them. Although she did not recognise any of the names on the shops, Hecate understood that this was a street primarily of high fashion. The Ordinary fashions held no intrigue for her, however—she herself used a magical tailor of some repute for her clothing.</p><p>Hecate came to a café on the corner of the street with large windows open to the street, the wood painted a dark pine green. Tables were set outside, where a woman sat alone, drinking coffee. She consulted the map of the entrances to the witching district—it should be right here, down past this café—she marched on, eager not to pause for too long, lest she seem suspicious.</p><p>“Excusez-moi,” a voice came from behind her.</p><p>Hecate hesitated before turning, her heart silently quaking in her chest. “Puis-je vous aider?”</p><p>The woman standing a few paces behind her was the very same woman she had just passed, drinking coffee on her own outside the café on the corner. She returned Hecate’s fearful look with a calculating raise of an eyebrow. Her dark hair was shot through with wisps of grey strands drawn back from her hairline, like spiders’ silk. She wore a flowing green skirt, and visible beneath her wool coat was a neat blouse with a brooch at her throat.</p><p>“No, but perhaps I may help you,” she responded in a smooth voice. “Madame Hardbroom?”</p><p>Hecate tensed to hear her own name. She did not wish to take the risk to assume this person was a witch, even though she hoped that that was the explanation. Her hand curled into an open claw—holding the tension there meant that she could still have use of her mouth.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>“Nina Jardin—I believe we have a mutual friend in Mlle Papillon? I was sent here to help you find us.”</p><p>The string that had been pulled taught inside her relaxed slightly. “Unnecessary, but thoughtful.”</p><p>Mlle Jardin scrutinised her as she led the way onward, walking with quick, sharp steps. “You seem like a capable witch. I do not expect you need help, but the department thought it would be polite to send someone to greet you.”</p><p>Hecate followed in her wake, unsure what to make of her new companion and feeling a little awkward against her slightly cool manner. Mlle Jardin brought her to an alley shaded from the brilliance of the street, with a single, nondescript door in the side of one of the buildings.</p><p>“This is the portal,” Mlle Jardin gestured to the door, “there is no spell to activate the transference. The space behind it is enchanted to allow you to cross between the planes if you are a witch.”</p><p>Mlle Jardin opened the doorway for her to enter—beyond it was a dark corridor that Hecate suspected was what Ordinaries would continue on through if they should open the same door. Hecate stepped forward—the liminal air felt thick, almost like a liquid—and between beats of time, she was clothed in rush of purple light. </p><p>Hecate felt her stomach lurch as she stepped out into an alley. It was much like the one she had left. She was in an echo of Ordinary Paris—and hanging in the air was a vaguely purplish tone, as if she were viewing everything through a tinted lens.</p><p>“This is your first time going into the arrondissement de la sorcellerie, Madame Hardbroom?” Hecate heard Mlle Jardin behind her as she appeared.</p><p>“Ah— Mademoiselle. Je ne suis pas mariée,” Hecate corrected her hastily. </p><p>“As you prefer,” Mlle Jardin said with a shrug. “Your French is fairly good.”</p><p>“It had to be,” Hecate responded, feeling self-conscious, “since many of the texts I need to consult are only in French.”</p><p>They proceeded out of the alley into a cobblestone street—and Hecate felt a glow of excitement unfolding inside her as she saw two witches in their advanced years shuffling down the pavement with linked arms, one chiding the other about taking better care of herself—and then a family of four on broomsticks racing pell-mell down the centre of the street, bags full of produce swinging from their tails.</p><p>Mlle Jardin continued heading north, her expression bearing no surprise at all. “There is a difference in being able to read and being able to speak well. But I believe you are an accomplished potions mistress? You could simply create a potion for linguistic understanding, no?”</p><p>“It would be too great a taxation on my potions supplies. I do not wish to run down my supply,” Hecate replied, struggling not to stare at every passing shop window—most of which on this street were bookshops and writing supplies that she was absolutely desperate to linger and inspect, but Mlle Jardin kept a quick pace that meant there was no time for idle dawdling. Hecate valued such focus usually, but the marvellous things around her were incredibly distracting.</p><p>“So you perfected another language just so you would not run out of knotweed? That sounds to me much more obvious, Mlle Hardbroom,” Mlle Jardin responded, quirking an eyebrow. “I could show you around the apothecaries here. There is a wonderful street that you must visit—it’s full of little shops where you can lose yourself.”</p><p>“That is a very generous offer,” Hecate said cautiously. She knew that Mlle Jardin had been sent by Mlle Papillon, but that was not a reason to trust her.</p><p>Mlle Jardin made no response but to merely smile and slow her pace as they crossed the street, and paused before a pair of vast carved oak doors in a large building with a welcoming façade decorated with an ornate frieze of every herb one could imagine.</p><p>“This is it—the Académie des botanistes.”</p><p>The doors magically swung inwards as Mlle Jardin stepped up to them, and Hecate followed in her wake, over the green carpets warmed by the natural lighting filtering in from the windows. Lining the walls were cases of preserved herbs beside portraits of the witches who bred them, drawing Hecate’s eye as she passed, but they continued towards the front desk.</p><p>Mlle Jardin helped her to register a research pass that would allow her access for the next few months to many different libraries and collections all over Paris—“it will even work in the Ordinary libraries, should you desire,” Mlle Jardin remarked. </p><p>Mlle Jardin’s eyes trained above Hecate’s eye level to her hat as they waited for an administration witch to sort through the forms they filled in. “That’s quite a hat, but I am guessing you do not want it in the photograph.”</p><p>Hecate removed the top hat from her head. It had been a compromise. “I wore it to blend in with the Ordinaries. I thought it would stand out less than a pointed hat.”</p><p>Mlle Jardin gave an amused smile. “It is— very dapper.”</p><p>Hecate stood against a blank wall stiffly for the photograph that the witch at the registration desk required for her pass, while feeling Mlle Jardin’s eyes upon her. She had not had time to check her appearance, but hoped that she had at least both eyes open. Hecate did not feel that she photographed well.</p><p>The administration witch magicked her pass together, and handed it over. The Hecate in the picture looked a little surprised, perhaps, but her hair was immaculate.</p><p>Mlle Jardin accompanied her to the archives department and introduced her a very harried-looking elderly witch with wild grey hair, who turned out to be Mlle Papillon, with whom she had been corresponding over the summer. Hecate was not sure if she knew that she was wearing two cardigans, one of which was inside-out. Despite her slightly slipshod appearance, Mlle Papillon gave Hecate a warm welcome and told Hecate she was welcome to browse the archives whenever she wanted, and showed her how to use the cataloguing system.</p><p>Hecate felt her enthusiasm begin to overtake her nerves as Mlle Jardin offered her a tour of the rest of the building. She spent the time imagining herself working in the various facilities—dedicated spaces for all types of spells, sample preservation, hybridising, and separate chambers for chanted spells. Hecate particularly all the high quality equipment, including some rather wonderful cauldrons. Some of the school cauldrons at Cackle’s, admittedly, had become rather crusty with old potions that several generations of students had used. The build-up had become so ancient that it had become part of the natural patina of the inside of the cauldrons—which was unpleasant when one knew what it was. It was why Hecate was quite particular about who touched her personal cauldron.</p><p>Mlle Jardin showed her the space that had been made for her in one of the greenhouse laboratories—and since they both were working in a similar area of study, they would be working together in the same greenhouse much of the time, when Mlle Jardin was not working at the Bibliothèque de botanique or teaching. It seemed like a pleasant enough prospect, as Mlle Jardin seemed quite efficient and her ambition and passion when she spoke of her subject area was apparent.</p><p>There was an adjoining kitchenette, and Mlle Jardin pointed out where the mugs and supplies to make hot drinks were. “I know how you English witches like your tea,” she said wryly.</p><p>The greenhouses were all specialised to the types of plants that were growing there. They peeked into a few—each with a carefully maintained environment and team of witches working on caring for them. It was fascinating to see the living encyclopaedia of herbs as well, which meant that they were never out of stock of fresh herbs from around the globe. Hecate could think of no more wonderful place to spend the next few months, and considered herself very fortunate indeed to have this opportunity.</p><p>When Hecate left at last, the evening was drawing in, even though summer’s long evenings still felt like they were barely waning. Many of the shops she had passed earlier were already closed, except for some cafés and restaurants that glowed with warm candlelight from within.</p><p>Hecate reluctantly left the witching district—for there was little that she could explore now that it was late—and re-entered the Ordinary world. The contrast with the mild purplish hue of the light in the witching district was much less pleasant when travelling back to Ordinary Paris—everything seemed a blaring yellow. She supposed she would get used to it.</p><p>Hecate started to notice and remember a few helpful landmarks in the street that she had seen on her way there. By the time she returned to the flat at 267 rue Saint-Honoré, she was feeling ever so slightly less isolated from the witching community—and although she missed Cackle’s dearly, there were many worthwhile opportunities available to her here.</p>
<hr/><p>Hecate found her initial days absorbed primarily in study. She blinkered herself against the commotion and sensationalising of the tourist attractions that Parisian living enabled her to exist so closely alongside—it was a means of focusing on her work and getting the most out of her precious research time.</p><p>Hecate always made a direct route from her flat on rue Saint-Honoré to the Académie des botanistes, down as many side-streets as it took to stay away from the unintelligible chaos of the Ordinary traffic system—and as she did every day, desperately avoided gazing into the window of the pâtisserie that lay across the street from her temporary home with its elegant array of mille-feuilles, religieuses, éclairs, madeleines, and all manner of fancies far too fussy to fathom. </p><p>She had by now become used to interpreting the different lights on poles—some indicated the flow of vehicular traffic, and others whether she and the other pedestrians were permitted to safely pass across the street without fear of being crushed to death by a metal box on wheels hurtling towards them.</p><p>September in Paris was considerably warmer than September in the rural British countryside, on the summit of a mountain—the black overcoat with its short capelet that she had brought instead of a cloak was more often draped over her arm than around her shoulders when she left the library upon its closing each evening.</p><p>Hecate had by now also successfully managed to locate a local supermarket—which bore the name Carrefour—where she could purchase food in the Ordinary world. It was the most efficient way for her to find everything she needed, for it had quite a wide range of products all in the same place. Perhaps one day she would investigate the options available in the witching district, but she was not used to having to purchase nutrition for herself on a daily basis and had not had the time outside of her strict schedule to explore.</p><p>Hecate missed Cackle’s more than she imagined—particularly when the day had come for the students to arrive. She had been quite reluctant to abandon her usual duty of caring for the kittens with Ada for the new intake, though she would never admit to it. Her longing to return to her beloved castle fought against her eagerness for knowledge, but she knew that Cackle’s would still be there when she returned with its ancient stones that she called home.</p>
<hr/><p>Hecate had been in Paris for three weeks, when she was pleasantly surprised to arrive back at 267 rue Saint-Honoré one exceptionally rainy day to an envelope addressed to her, resting in the pigeon hole at the foot of the stairs where her post was delivered. The sender’s address was in the upper left-hand corner, though she did not need to read the name to know to whom the curling cursive belonged.</p><p>Hecate bore her precious cargo upstairs at once, casting a drying spell as soon as she entered and hanging up her coat and hat with a flourish of her hand, with more grace and excitement than she had felt in weeks, and sat at her writing desk to read what Ada had sent her.</p><p>A sense of warm delight flickered in her as she slit open the envelope with her silver monogrammed letter opener, as Morgana hopped up into her lap. The date at the head of the page gave her some pause, for it had been only just September when she had left, and Ada had waited three entire weeks to contact her—for she had heard nothing from Ada, and she had been thoroughly plagued by the worry that something had gone awfully wrong at Cackle’s without her. To hear any news would be of great relief, she thought.</p><p>Seeing Ada’s  and the first lines felt like wrapping one’s hands around a hot cup of tea—<i>I do hope that your sabbatical has been pleasant so far. I promised myself I would not disturb you during this term, but I am afraid I need assistance with a small matter.</i></p><p>Oh, Ada—it would have been no disturbance at all. Hecate had failed so far to entrench herself in any kind of social scene and she dearly missed her meetings with Ada. Her work had been paramount and it seemed disingenuous to feign a friendship with any of the academics she saw around on a daily basis. They were colleagues—nothing more—as was Ada, she had to remind herself.</p><p>As she read on, her brow furrowed and her pleasure evaporated as she deduced the real reason of Ada’s writing—there was a nasty influenza and Ada was not sure of the location of her stash of nightweed. She realised with a pang that she had missed Ada more than she thought, and Ada had made no mention of missing her—a foolish, pointless thought that she tried to quash immediately. </p><p>The truth was that Hecate had mostly kept herself to herself—limiting interactions with the others in the greenhouses and laboratories with her usual method of accidentally intimidating anyone who dared interrupt her work. She had spoken the most with Mlle Jardin, who had always been helpful, and who had invited her to lunch with the others a few times. Lunch seemed to be a social event of sorts here—for they would all return talking animatedly for a while afterwards. Hecate refused enough times that Mlle Jardin only asked occasionally, and had her usual sandwiches perched at the table in the kitchenette alone. She found herself ever more in need of social contact than before, but now was hardly the time for such petulant regrets.</p><p>Seeing that an expedient response was needed, Hecate set the letter to one side and took out her writing materials. She dipped her pen into the bottle, the ink glistening on her nib, and began: <i>Dear Ada</i>. Hecate wrote in a matter-of-fact tone—where her nightweed supply was, and what they could use to substitute for nightweed, should it be necessary. </p><p>She read over her letter, checking for legibility and that all the necessary information had been conveyed. Knowing that Cackle’s was down with a sickness and that she was not there to assist in the school’s hour of need had not quite put her in a conversational mood, but this was not the time to worry about whether her tone came across as entertaining.</p><p>Hecate was in two minds about enquiring after Ada’s health, since it was verging into the personal. Saying it was one thing, but putting it into a formal letter was another—but it was a duty as Ada’s deputy headmistress that she should ensure that Ada had everything she needed to complete her job. She finished with a firm reminder that she hoped Ada herself was taking care of her health, careful to phrase it in a professional tone, since Ada had also done so.</p><p>Hecate addressed the envelope, taking care when she wrote Ada’s name, and affixed one of her transference stamps to the upper-right hand corner. It was not an Ordinary stamp—faster and more discreet than broom-mail, a transference stamp would instantly transport a small, light letter or parcel to the recipient’s address within moments of being posted into a post box. </p><p>Putting on her hat and coat back on, she went directly back outside into the rain-washed streets, feeling foolish as all the Ordinary people milled around her with umbrellas. Being a witch, she cared little for rain—but the looks of pity she received were enough to make her consider the purchase of an umbrella.</p><p>Her path to the Académie des botanistes took her past several letter boxes—which she could hardly miss for their garish yellow colour—but she had not been too attentive of exactly where one was. It was, mercifully, not too long before she saw one, and marched over it it, the yellow surface all beaded with rain, and slipped the letter into the right-hand slot labelled <i>Autres départements/Etranger</i>, letting it fall into the waiting maw. There was no sound as it fell, since posting it had immediately activated the transference spell imbued in the stamp, and it would now be sitting on Ada’s desk in her office.</p><p>Hecate had intended to stop by the Carrefour on the way back to buy some bread, since she had nothing for dinner—but she felt oddly she had no appetite as she thought on whether Ada might be presently opening her letter, or whether it might lie on her desk for several hours before she noticed it—and most of all, she wished that Ada had not fallen ill.</p>
<hr/><p>Hecate’s long hours in the archives reviewing other academics’ studies of aquatic flora had given her reason to start with the water plants <i>persicaria amphibia</i>, <i>mentha aquatica</i>, and <i>menyanthes trifoliate</i>. She had requested cuttings from the living encyclopaedia, upon which she could use a growth seed so that they would reach maturity before she could begin to take her samples. She brought them with a certain sense of pride and excitement to her greenhouse, where she had set up her water trays that mimicked the conditions in which the plants would naturally grow. Over the coming weeks, she had planned to test their various properties in potions that altered clarity of thought, recall, and memory.</p><p>Yet that was all before Ada’s letter—and now, she went about checking her samples with a burden on her mind. She awaited Ada’s response with great impatience, imagining every moment that something awful had happened and that Ada needed her to return to Cackle’s to assist.</p><p>It was not for a couple of days, until the 24th, that Hecate received a reply from Ada, which she opened feverishly in her need to find out whether all was well.</p><p>Ada thanked her for her advice and assured her that she was doing all that she could to stay healthy—<i>but you know very well that the school comes first. I can well imagine the disapproving glare you are no directing towards this letter</i>—Hecate’s eyes widened as she realised she had, indeed, been scowling at the words. She was slightly mollified by her empathy of Ada’s position, and knew in the circumstances she would be doing the very same, and that Ada would be the one sternly telling her to take care of herself. Ada seemed positive that all would be back on their feet in a week, which Hecate suspected was rather optimistic.</p><p>Hecate’s heart leapt when she realised that on the last leaf of the letter, Ada seemed to be suggesting that they keep up a correspondence—she assured Hecate that she <i>needn’t reply to this letter</i> since Ada thought she deserved this break, but that she would be <i>delighted</i> to hear of any updates that Hecate may like to share. She had also changed her sign-off to <i>Warmly</i> rather than <i>Sincerely</i> as she had done in her first letter.</p><p>Of course Hecate wanted to write back—although she appreciated Ada’s cautiousness, as often Hecate valued how Ada would always be respectful of her boundaries. The shape of Ada’s gentle words on the page—Hecate found herself tracing them with her fingers, feeling where Ada’s hand must have rested to hold the pen—the one that Hecate had bought for her sixtieth birthday, by the comfortable broad strokes that the nib had etched.</p><p>She would also be glad to have somewhere to organise her thoughts on how the project was progressing, as long as the subject matter seemed interesting enough to put in a letter. Some of the laboratory work she did, while important for the project, was not particularly worth sharing in a personal letter.</p><p>After a brief chastisement on the cryptic nature of Ada’s letter regarding her own health, in which she threatened to write to Dimity, Hecate began to update her on her project—nothing beyond the initial hypothesis as yet, for she did not wish to commit anything to paper that she did not know with absolute certainty. Hecate did not wish for her letters to be a bore to Ada, either.</p><p>She told Ada also of her colleague, Mlle Jardin, who had thus far proved to be an adequate laboratory companion, primarily for her lack of idle small talk while they were both working. Truth be told, she had let no one edge much closer than “could you pass that pipette?” and that was how she intended to continue.</p><p>Her face softened as she answered Ada’s concerns over whether Hecate would like to start a regular correspondence. <i>No letter of yours could be unwelcome to me, and I would be delighted to keep in touch.</i> The nib hovered over the page. She did not want Ada to think that she was regretting taking the sabbatical or that she was squandering the opportunity to improve herself and further her career. She confirmed that it was beneficial to have a break, particularly from the mischief that working in a magical school for young witches ensured she had to combat on a nigh daily basis.</p><p>
  <i>I do miss being at Cackle’s though, more than I anticipated.</i>
</p><p>The line stood out heavily to her as soon as she had inked it. She wondered what it could mean that she felt every word with a strangely bittersweet sense of longing.</p><p>
  <i>Sincerely,<br/>
Hecate</i>
</p>
<hr/><p>The end of September was now drawing in, and Ada was almost certainly, without shade of a doubt, ill. When the first couple of days passed without any indication of receipt of her letter, Hecate began to panic. She even ventured to ask Mlle Papillon if she had a newspaper, which she planned to scour for news of the influenza sweeping British magic schools—and was promptly horrified by the article that filled the title page on the very subject. She raked through the lines of French for any mention of Cackle’s—skimming over the advice to travellers to rethink making any arrangements for the next two weeks to stem the tide of the epidemic—and found a quotation from Pippa Pentangle, described as the “bubbly headmistress of the popular modern witching academy, Pentangle’s”, who reportedly said, “Our staff are handling the matter with efficiency and care, and every effort is being made to keep spirits high while our usual curriculum is suspended. We reassure parents and guardians that all those affected are on track to make a full recovery, and that normal lessons will resume once enough staff are available.”</p><p>The story was apparently similar across the board. Hecate found a singular instance of <i>Cackle’s</i> in a list of schools that were currently in quarantine. It was typical of Ada to keep Cackle’s out of view of the press, but was still not a good sign at all. </p><p>Hecate had half a mind to uproot her entire research trip and return home to Cackle’s, where they surely needed her expertise and spare hands to stir the potions that needed to be made—but the advice against travelling kept her seething in Paris.</p><p>Hecate continued the gruelling task of classifying the strains of each type of water plant and logging their various divergences in effect when they were prepared in different ways. It was thoughtless work—and the repetitiveness meant that she had all too much time to think of Ada, working herself into sickness while Hecate stood, helpless and surrounded by phials whose contents barely held any meaning for her any more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Octobre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was over a week before Hecate received Ada’s response. To say she had been worried was an understatement—she had had an awful week, logging many hours of work that were all rendered useless when she realised that the temperature of the samples had not been kept constant, fluctuating ever so slightly and ruining the parameters of the experiment.</p>
<p>Ada’s letter must have been waiting at least a full day in Hecate’s pigeon hole before she noticed it—for the letter was dated as the 2nd October, and it was the evening of the 3rd when she had just returned from a stressful day of re-sampling all the herbs and noting down all her observations and re-casting all the spells to preserve them, to find the envelope waiting for her—she seized it and opened it frantically with her bare hands on the way upstairs—unable to wait to use her letter opener on it.</p>
<p>Ada’s <i>Dear Hecate</i> at the head of the page brought a sense of relief once more to her troubled mind, though it seemed as though all her worries were true—Ada was ill. Well, she <i>had been</i> ill—as she said she was now fully recovered. Hecate put her hand to her heart. A prick of a tear came into her eyes—but she was not sure whether it was from relief, or regret that she had not been of more help. She smiled weakly as she read Ada’s comment, <i>you needn’t scold me for Dimity and Gwen have already done so</i>.</p>
<p>Hecate was surprised to see that Ada was already acquainted with Mlle Jardin, and felt warmer towards her for the connection. Ada’s analysis of her as <i>bright, thoughtful, and a consummate academic</i> seemed to fit reasonably with Hecate’s observations as well, although she noted that Ada tended to bring out positive qualities in many—for it was Hecate’s opinion that one could not meet her and not be utterly charmed by her warmth and kindness. Hecate, however, seemed to bring out Mlle Jardin’s need to tease her.</p>
<p><i>I hope both that your work is going well and that you have been able to take a little time to see some of the sights of Paris.</i> She had, of course, had no time to spare at all on such frivolous outings. Hecate was taking her research very seriously—devoting Monday to Friday to work in the greenhouse laboratories, the archives, or the various libraries around Paris—and on the weekends, she braved the Ordinary shops to buy enough food to keep her going for the next week, and then worked from home, writing up the week’s experiments at her writing desk while Morgana purred cosily in her lap. </p>
<p>Ada also recommended an article by Dr. Zvyezda in the latest <i>Magical Curiosities</i>, which Hecate had not read but thought it sounded interesting enough. She only wished to find out more on account of Ada wanting to know her opinion on it, and found herself quite envying Miss Bat for being Ada’s companion on the matter. Usually Ada would talk to Hecate about recent witching research during their tea breaks, and knowing that she was doing so with someone else was a little unsettling.</p>
<p><i>I miss you very much, my dear. I knew that I would, but I had not realised just how intertwined your life had become with mine until you left for Paris.</i> The letter slipped from her fingers. It was exactly as she felt, but seeing the words in Ada’s hand was overwhelming. She could not fathom Ada missing her as much as she had been missing Ada—and she had missed her an awful amount while Ada had been too ill to respond her last letter.</p>
<p>Hecate stroked Morgana, reading over the letter again. Though she was softened by Ada’s admission that she missed her, Hecate was reminded of the week from hell that she had had and felt maddened by the situation—that she had been helpless and unable to help in the school’s—in Ada’s—time of need. She took up her pen and furiously wrote across the page the thoughts topmost in her mind.</p>
<p>
  <i>I was so worried about you that I ruined an entire week of research doing exactly the wrong thing. I could barely concentrate. I had to find out from Mlle Papillon’s newspaper the extent of the epidemic. Of course, Cackle’s was barely a footnote in such an article—although there was an entire paragraph on how Pentangle’s was coping—so I could not help but catastrophise.</i>
</p>
<p>No—that sounded far too accusatory. She tore the paper up and put her head in her hands.</p>
<p>
  <i>How could you ask me about sight-seeing when I have had the worst week of my life being driven up the wall with worry for you? Could you not have asked Dimity or Gwen to have written to let your deputy headmistress—</i>
</p>
<p>Hecate stopped herself before she could continue. Incensed though she was, it was only out of affection, and she hardly thought Ada deserved such blame. She crushed the page in her hand.</p>
<p><i>Ada Cackle, you have a responsibility to take care of your health. You are the backbone of the school and—</i> Hecate paused. She was already feeling her ears grow hot. <i>It was painful to know that you were inevitably heading towards illness, because—because—</i> </p>
<p>Hecate put her pen down—and it was telling of her powers of discipline that she did so gently. She must temper her emotions on the matter. She would answer in the morning, when her mind was refreshed and less liable to burst into a passion. It had been nice that Ada was still writing to her after she had resolved the nightweed problem, and she wanted more than anything in the world for that feeling to continue.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The morning came, and Hecate arose to a morning swamped over with heavy rainclouds. After she had completed her ablutions, and spent far too long delaying the inevitable by dressing and re-dressing her hair when she was not satisfied with the way she had positioned her bun the first time—she settled down at her writing desk with a pot of tea and resumed writing.</p>
<p>She felt she ought to acknowledge the three failed attempts at answering the letter last night. <i>Very well, I won’t scold you, though I am sorely tempted to do so, and ruined three sheets of perfectly good paper before this one.</i></p>
<p>Hecate took a pause to respond to Morgana leaping into her lap by allowing her to bunt her head against her hand. Morgana settled and tucked her paws underneath herself, purring happily as Hecate stroked her head with her left hand while her right dipped her pen into the ink.</p>
<p>Hecate continued to write, although felt as though her responses were dry and not really worth Ada’s reading. All she had done was fail to express her feelings on how she felt about Ada being ill, that she had not yet had much time for sight-seeing, and that she would attempt to find Dr. Zvyezda’s letter, in the <i>Bibliothèque de Magie</i> or the Bibliothèque nationale de magie, knowing that she was unlikely to have the availability to pursue such a topic.</p>
<p>She sighed and supposed she could update Ada on the parts of her research that had <i>not</i> failed, relating her findings on <i>persicaria amphibia</i>, <i>mentha aquatica</i>, and <i>menyanthes trifoliata</i>. </p>
<p>Hecate knew she needed to address Ada’s expression of missing her. Her heart was still moved as she read the words once again—<i>but I had not realised just how intertwined your life had become with mine until you left for Paris.</i> There was so much that she wanted to say in response to that sentiment—but none of it seemed to want to leave her pen. She tried to find a way to express what she meant in her heart, but it ended up sounding stiff—<i>I find that I miss your company as well. It is not quite the same, taking tea with my notes.</i></p>
<p>Ada had signed off her letter with <i>Affectionately</i>—Hecate fought against her urge to write something similarly personal, and scratched the word <i>Sincerely</i> at the bottom of the page.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was astonishing how much easier it was to work when Hecate was not worried that Ada was on her deathbed—her step was lighter, the tedious tasks seemed suddenly fascinating, and her every thought was of how lovely it was that she and Ada had been getting closer. Mlle Jardin asked her if she had been at the witches’ brew, to which Hecate had even seen an amusing side, and had given the most subtle of smiles, before denying it and refusing to give any kind of answer.</p>
<p>In retrospect, perhaps her response to Ada’s last letter had not been so awful. In fact, she was feeling reasonably positive about it. As she walked home under a sky prematurely dark with rain at after six, the puddled pavement shimmered with the glows of light from shop windows—berths of warmth in the damp that she could feel in her bones. </p>
<p>The next letter from Ada appeared just as Hecate was leaving the flat—she decided that it could be brought into work with her, and she could respond to it in her lunch break. It would give her something to look forward to over the long morning, tucked away in her handbag and waiting for her to read later.</p>
<p>As the time approached for lunch, Hecate kept checking her pocket watch, wondering when the others would leave. She wanted to be reading Ada’s words—so she could hear the news from Cackle’s, of course—but she felt that it would be a waste of laboratory space to read it here, and moreover, she did not want anyone imposing on her private business.</p>
<p>Finally, she was alone, as the last of the witches left the greenhouse—and Hecate took out the letter secretively, drinking in Ada’s handwriting as if it were a cup of tea that she had been thirsting after the entire morning.</p>
<p>Ada started off responding to Hecate’s comments about her research, continuing seamlessly into an anecdote about her childhood with Agatha. Hecate shook her head at her comment about Agatha convincing Ada to eat pondweed. That could not have been pleasant—but then again, Hecate was far from Agatha’s greatest supporter.</p>
<p><i>The leaves are starting to turn, just a little here, and there’s that feeling of autumn in the air. I’m going to visit Mother for the weekend, for our annual apple-picking adventure.</i> Hecate ached as she thought of autumn at Cackle’s, when the forests around the castle turn russet and gold. It was a truly magical time of year—at least, to Hecate’s mind, and had the strong positive associations of Ada’s birthday and Halloween both in the final week of October.</p>
<p>For a moment, she allowed her mind to stray into a vision of what it would be like to bite into the crispness of an apple and to meet blue eyes looking back at her—and of bearing baskets of plump red apples down a lane fringed with apple orchards beside Ada—and then baking something delicious with their foraged treasure. </p>
<p><i>Perhaps Mlle Jardin would take tea with you one day?</i> Ada had written—expelling all thoughts of the fresh smell of autumnal apples and Ada’s eyes from her mind. But she did not want tea with Mlle Jardin in some café. She wished she could see Ada again—if only to reassure herself that Ada was truly better, and that the crisis had been averted. Yet—she supposed she would have to make do with these fleeting moments of elation.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate had just had a long day of research at the Bibliothèque de botanique—instructing her quill to copy out long quotations as she read—making particular care to note down the page and book references.</p>
<p>The high ceiling of the reading room above her let in plenty of light with its decorative panes of glass, much in the style of a greenhouse—as if those that frequented it were plants that the library was nourishing them with light and knowledge. All kinds of plant life also shared the space—ivy crept down the walls and locked itself around the wooden shelves and held them upright—ferns and florals hung from baskets that were dotted around inconveniently at Hecate’s head-height—and wild herbs seeded themselves at will into some tomes that had been there long enough that they had not been touched in decades, now sprouting plants that glowed with the shared magic of the books they had made their homes. The central borrowing desk, where Hecate was now waiting wearily, was formed around a living tree that towered up into the ceiling. A mosaic of tiles underfoot had breaks in the pattern that allowed the tree’s roots to emerge between them, like knotted knuckles.</p>
<p>It was a wondrous sight to behold, but Hecate could not help feeling that it was verging on the slightly too chaotic—but then again, green witches were not quite noted for their sense of structure or organisation on the whole—a thought that Hecate pondered as she waited for the bony-faced librarian, Mme Beauchêne, to file through the index cards for each of the books she intended to return, peering through her thick glasses at the numerals on the cards, practically doubled over the title pages to read them—while those texts that were able to be taken out of the library still stood in a separate stack on the counter.</p>
<p>Hecate felt fortunate that only one of the books she had had to consult had a plant growing through it, which irritatingly impaired the readability of the text and some important diagrams. She had been told—upon ordering it from the library’s special repository—strictly not to separate any part of the plant from the book, since they now had a symbiotic relationship and damage to the plant’s delicate root structure could hinder the magic contained within the book itself. Hecate wondered at the logic of allowing plants to grow anywhere near books to begin with.</p>
<p>Hecate waited for she needed some kind of confirmation that everything had been above ground—perhaps a receipt—but Mme Beauchêne seemed not to notice her for a few minutes. Hecate cleared her throat pointedly.</p>
<p>Mme Beauchêne looked up at her, her eyes magnified through the lenses over her thin face, giving her the appearance of some kind of mantis, nodding at the books. “Vous pouvez partir maintenant,” she said in a voice that sounded as though she were speaking through a thick fog, and waved her away with a limp hand.</p>
<p>Hecate thanked her, not thoroughly clear whether she was permitted to take the books from the reading room and not wholly convinced that she was not about to be chased down the main boulevard of the arrondissement de la sorcellerie by a member of the magical book gendarmerie and accused of book-theft.</p>
<p>Occupied with this ill thought, Hecate did not notice the witch charging towards her without looking where she was going—until a force collided with her and sent her hat-over-boots tumbling to the floor, sending the armful of books she had been cradling protectively scattering in a flapping of pages and loose notes that she had been using as bookmarks, along with her hat. Her hip and shoulder took the brunt of the force—the impact reverberated through her bones.</p>
<p>“Ah! Je suis très, très desolée, Madame!” A voice over her effused, immediately offering a hand up. “Êtes-vous blessé? Je ne me le pardonnerai <i>jamais</i>! S’il vous plaît, laissez-moi vous aider.”</p>
<p>Hecate took the woman’s hand. It engulfed her own with its size and warmth. As she stood, she noted the woman was of late middle age, with curly grey hair, and she was not tall, being barely Ada’s height. She shook her head—it was her own fault for being distracted—she did not appear to have hurt anything too grievously except her dignity.</p>
<p>“Non, c’était de ma faute,” Hecate mumbled quickly, deeply embarrassed as she glanced over at the mantis-eyed librarian, who was looking sternly over in their direction, and hoped that none of the books were damaged.</p>
<p>“Ah, you are English? Are you visiting Paris?” </p>
<p>Hecate deduced that her accent must be truly atrocious for the woman to have picked up on it so easily, and felt her ears pink with further degradation as the woman tried to help to dust her off. She was not used to touch—certainly not from someone she had just met. “I am here on a research trip, for the next few months. Hence—” she indicated the books, which she hastily stooped to collect together before the woman could assist with the dust on her posterior.</p>
<p>The woman got down on her knees laboriously to help pick up her books and papers. Hecate was eager to leave as quickly as humanly possible to avoid disturbing the other patrons of the reading room, and to hopefully not arouse the wrath of the librarian—and felt that the woman was hindering her progress by taking far longer than Hecate would have done.</p>
<p>Hecate was about to tell her that she need not trouble herself further, when she realised that the woman was holding up the envelope of Ada’s last letter, where Ada’s name and the address of the castle were clearly displayed.</p>
<p>“It cannot be—” the woman gasped. “Do you know Ada Cackle?”</p>
<p>Hecate’s heart skipped a beat as the woman continued staring at the envelope. It was the envelope to the letter when Ada had written <i>I had not realised just how intertwined your life had become with mine</i>. She had kept the letter with her, for those words had meant more to Hecate than Hecate suspected Ada had intended. “I do. I am her— deputy headmistress, Hecate Hardbroom,” she said in a wavering voice, feeling as though the woman had something very precious of Hecate’s in her hands.</p>
<p>“I am so very sorry for reading something that I was not meant to—her name simply called out to me as I picked it up,” the woman explained, and put the envelope onto the pile of books and notes she had collected, pushing it towards Hecate.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Hecate said warily. “How do you know Ada Cackle?”</p>
<p>“Now <i>that</i> is a subject for a much longer conversation—ah—Nina!”</p>
<p>Hecate turned around, feeling mild horror at the woman’s blatant disregard for the sanctity of silence in the library, to see Mlle Jardin approaching them. Evidently she and the woman who had run into her were acquainted. </p>
<p>“Mlle Hardbroom, I never took you for one who could not follow the rules of silence in the library—but of course, here is the culprit. You have met the enigmatic Mlle Théière?”</p>
<p>The woman—Mlle Théière—glowed to hear herself spoken of in such a way, and greeted Mlle Jardin with <i>bises</i> to each cheek, continuing at full volume in a voice that echoed slightly in the library, “Oh Nina— you know how to compliment an old witch. Did you know that Mlle Hardbroom knows Ada Cackle—<i>the</i> Ada Cackle?”</p>
<p>“I understand Mlle Hardbroom works at Cackle’s Academy, so I should hope that she knows the headmistress quite well.” Mlle Jardin raised an eyebrow at Mlle Théière teasingly.</p>
<p>Mlle Théière turned to Hecate suddenly, with an expression of sincerity. “Might I ask, Mlle Hardbroom—is Ada well? I have not heard from her in so long.”</p>
<p>The politeness of Mlle Théière’s inquiry and her closeness with Mlle Jardin convinced Hecate that it would not be right to deny her the barely murmured, “Yes, she is quite well,” that she ended up granting her.</p>
<p>“Of course, you must <i>both</i> come to dinner so we can talk all about her—and as an apology to my dear Mlle Hardbroom for running her over so rudely.”</p>
<p>“I am sure that is quite unnecessary,” Hecate attempted to demur, but Mlle Théière shook her head.</p>
<p>“Any friend of Ada is a friend of mine,” Mlle Théière beamed. “I will send you the address.”</p>
<p>At that moment, Mme Beauchêne came marching over with an alarmingly murderous expression. She hissed something furious at them, which Hecate did not have to translate to know that they were being ejected none too politely.</p>
<p>Hecate wrote to Ada immediately after the incident with Marthe Théière, trying to broach the topic as sensitively as possible, in case she had misread the situation and there had been some kind of misunderstanding between Ada and Mlle Théière that had caused them to lose contact. She told her of the dinner—she was still baffled as to why she was invited to dine with a complete stranger—and asked if there was any message that Ada wished to pass on.</p>
<p>It was curious indeed to Hecate that she should come to Paris, and be thinking so much of Ada—only to find one of Ada’s old friends there. Yet sometimes such coincidences only served to make the world seem a friendlier place.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next time Hecate found her pigeon hole graced by a letter from Ada—about which she was rather excited, owing to the mystery of Marthe Théière—it was accompanied by a small parcel bound with rather an abundance of sticky tape, which intrigued Hecate to no end. She decided to open the letter first, hoping it would give context to the parcel.</p>
<p>Ada seemed overjoyed to hear about Marthe Théière, with whom Ada revealed she had had a romantic relationship that ended owing to their living so far apart from each other. The manner of Marthe’s overblown surprise was thrown into sharp context as she realised that her wonderment at the connection had been due to the closeness of their former relationship.</p>
<p><i>I shall have to tell Mother that you have met her, she will be delighted. I do believe she hoped at one time that Marthe and I might marry. I dare say Marthe may be happily devoted still to Miss Longstead, for all I know.</i> Hecate felt the words pierce through her. It was clear to her that Ada still had wistful feelings for Marthe—and what a shock—for she had never conceived that Ada had once been in a relationship serious enough to warrant questions of matrimony. It was not out of any belief that Ada had not been in a serious relationship—only that she and Ada had never discussed such things—and indeed, why should they have done? Hecate was just her colleague.</p>
<p>She made a mental note of the information to pass on, and perhaps to try to find out whether she was still living with Miss Longstead, or in Paris full-time.</p>
<p>Hecate had almost forgotten about Ada going apple-picking with her mother, until she read Ada’s reflections on her weekend and the image chased the strange hollow feeling out of her mind. Ada—baking with her mother—it sounded like a perfectly pleasant weekend. She turned to the parcel and sliced through the many layers of tape to find a generous-sized jar of apple sauce. <i>Don’t worry, it’s unsweetened, and I didn’t put any cinnamon in.</i> Ada did know her well, she thought with a gentle sigh. Ada added that she wished she could post some of the pie—and upon this, Hecate smiled at the idea that Ada had imagined doing such a thing for her.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate had spent the whole of the next day wondering over what Ada could have meant by her wanting to invite Mlle Théière to Cackle’s—was it merely wishing to reconnect with an old friend, or something more? Why had Ada told Hecate about her mother wishing that Ada had married Mlle Théière? The questions spun around her mind as she went about her daily rounds in the greenhouses.</p>
<p>It was particularly troubling to Hecate why she was so preoccupied on this matter—why indeed, should it matter to her with whom Ada spent her time? She felt a headache coming on as she came to the final few stasis spells that needed refreshing on her samples—and in the absence of anything more to do in the laboratory, returned to the flat in the overly bright overhead sunlight, tugging her top hat down further to shield her eyes from the sun.</p>
<p>Once indoors, Hecate summoned the strength to brew up a potion for the tightness in her scalp and around her eyes, combining some simple herbs in her cauldron over the gas hob. She decanted a glass of it for immediate quaffing, and allowed the rest to cool in the cauldron to mature into a stronger infusion.</p>
<p>An intrigued Morgana, woken from sleep by Hecate’s unprecedented return, wound herself affectionately around the chair as Hecate sat at the dressing table, slipping pins from her bun and letting her hair unravel and fall down her back in heavy curls. She let her long nails gently play across her scalp, sheaves of hair looping between her fingers. It was soothing, but merely temporary.</p>
<p>Trusting her potion to work its magic, Hecate lay down upon the bed to rest. Her eyes closed against the pounding in her head. Morgana slunk over, and lay next to her head, purring gently, and Hecate gave into the comforting vibrations.</p>
<p>When Hecate awoke from her nap, she was quite hungry. She thought groggily of the apple sauce that Ada had sent as she splashed water onto her face to refresh herself, and resolved to try some with a modest slice of ginger cake that she had bought. Usually she was not really one for sweets, but in truth, she missed the usual afternoon teas she had with Ada, and had bought it in a weak moment to feel a little closer to her—she had been rationing it slowly, and it had gone a little stale. With the apple sauce, and a pot of black tea, however, it was perfectly balanced—the sharpness of the apple and the sweet heat of the ginger brought out the most marvellous flavour in both, and the small chunks of apple had such a wonderful bite to them on account of the freshness and quality of the apples. It was a little like eating a miniature spiced apple pie.</p>
<p>After clearing away her plate and fork, and washing her hands, Hecate realised that she needed to write a thank-you note for the apple sauce. Sitting down to the writing desk, she noted that much of Ada’s letter had been concerned with her history with Mlle Théière and Hecate was not quite certain what was the best way to respond. She settled upon telling Ada about the upcoming dinner with Mlle Théière and Mlle Jardin tomorrow, and how she was intending to take Ada’s suggestion to have tea with Mlle Jardin, feeling all the while that she would much rather take tea with Ada.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate checked once again the invitation card from Marthe Théière to ensure that she had the correct address. The restaurant at which they would be dining was happily in the witching district, and thus they would be able to speak freely about their magic without fear of exposing witchcraft.</p>
<p>She located the nearest doorway into the witching distract, according to the map, and saw that the restaurant was not too far from the Bibliothèque nationale de magie—Hecate suspected that she had almost passed by it unawares on a previous trip. </p>
<p>Mlle Jardin was already within, and when Hecate gave the name of the booking to the waiter, she smiled and nodded a greeting. Hecate appreciated the aesthetic of the restaurant as she was led between the tables to sit with Mlle Jardin. It was very grand—evidently inspired by Belle Époque architecture with its lavish gold detail work in the archways.</p>
<p>Mlle Théière arrived late, graciously sweeping in, allowing the waiter to take her cloak and tuck her chair in for her. Her wiry grey hair was wound up underneath a very elaborate hat, and she wore a violet evening gown that fastened at the back with glittering black buttons, and several extravagant rings set with large gemstones that each held a tumult of stories. Hecate felt exceedingly under-dressed next to her and Mlle Jardin, who looked distinctly more glamorous than Hecate did, in a green evening gown with embroidered lace panel sleeves that draped elegantly from her shoulders, and a low neckline to display an iridescent black opal necklace.</p>
<p>Hecate had brought very little in the way of formal wear—and she did not own anything in the realm of what either of her companions was wearing. Anything she may have owned was far too overtly witch-like. She hardly wanted to risk being a pointy hat away from the denizens of Paris descending upon them and shrieking <i>“witch!”</i>.</p>
<p>If the restaurant’s opulent decor did not tip her off, when Hecate saw the prices on the wine lists, her eyes must have betrayed her shock—but Mlle Théière patted her on the arm and said, “Don’t worry, my dear—this is my invitation, so it is my treat to you.”</p>
<p>Mlle Théière ordered a bottle of wine for the table, and allowed the waiter to pour it with a levitation charm. Hecate had not regularly partaken of alcohol for some years, and feared that she should take caution lest she embarrass herself in front of her acquaintances.</p>
<p>“Thank you so much for inviting me, Mlle Théière,” Hecate began stiffly.</p>
<p>“Oh— none of this Mlle Théière. Call me Marthe, I <i>insist</i>.”</p>
<p>Hecate took the opportunity to savour a sip of wine. </p>
<p>Marthe apparently was immune to awkwardness—for she launched straight into small talk about their days and what they had all been working on. Hecate had not realised that Marthe was a scholar in another branch of the Université de magie.</p>
<p>“Might I enquire after a Miss Longstead? Ada mentioned that the two of you had been living in Switzerland,” Hecate managed to edge in during a pause, as delicately as she could, examining Marthe’s face for any sign that she should not pursue this matter.</p>
<p>“Ah!” Marthe replied, “Unfortunately we parted ways—amicably—some years ago.” She began to tell the story of what had transpired—which Hecate found herself struggling to concentrate on as the starter course was brought out and she had to concentrate on eating in the faultless way that she imagined fashionable people ate. “I confess I have never touched skis since,” she finished with a chuckle, and Hecate marvelled at what she must have missed from that conversation.</p>
<p>Over the meal, Marthe exuberantly launched into a full history of how she and Ada had met. Even knowing very little about Ada, Mlle Jardin smiled at all the appropriate moments and had contributed observations of her own. Hecate felt rather left out, pushing her food around the plate with her fork and taking increasingly large sips of the red wine as she felt her own friendship with Ada set into relief by Marthe’s rich and vibrant history with her as her friend and lover. </p>
<p>“I visited Belgique for the very same conference, although some years later,” Mlle Jardin said, her eyes distant in remembrance of Marthe’s last story. “I think I may have even met Ada there. Though I doubt she remembers me.”</p>
<p>“On the contrary—she mentioned meeting you at a few conferences in one of her letters,” Hecate said, speaking for the first time in what seemed like at least half an hour.</p>
<p>“We <i>are</i> sorry, Hecate, to have spoken over you all evening!” Marthe said earnestly, insisting on pouring Hecate more wine. “Of course you must tell us all about Cackle’s where you have worked with Ada for many years.”</p>
<p>Hecate recounted her first meeting with Ada, her interview for the position at Cackle’s, and—she had searched around desperately in her mind for something else—the carnage the students had made at Miss Cackle’s last birthday celebration. None of the stories she had of Ada was particularly amusing or entertaining, she felt—though Mlle Jardin did ask some questions on what it was like teaching young witches, as she claimed she could not quite picture Hecate teaching the basics of witchcraft when she had seen her working in the laboratories and libraries on cutting-edge research. </p>
<p>The conversation swiftly moved onto the nature of Hecate’s research project, which Marthe had recalled her mentioning when they had met the other day. Mlle Jardin was particularly complimentary of Hecate’s work ethic in the greenhouse laboratories, and Hecate steered the discussion over to Mlle Jardin’s work to remove herself from the limelight—presently Mlle Jardin was doing a fascinating study on the symbiotic relationship of magical freshwater-dwelling beetles and the flora that grew in the same environment.</p>
<p>Hecate had hoped to find something to dislike about Marthe Théière—on principle, she must ensure that her headmistress was not about to have her kindness taken advantage of. Devotion to Ada was what motivated her, to be certain—but she could find nothing to fault. Mlle Théière was amusing, charismatic, gracious, and easy to get along with, even for Hecate. The only thing Hecate had against her was that she had a loud and carrying voice, which had offended the librarian at the Bibliothèque de botanique, but Hecate would allow her this single flaw on account of her other positive qualities.</p>
<p>Towards the end of the evening, Hecate extended Ada’s invitation for Marthe to visit Cackle’s if she were ever in Britain, to which Marthe poured forth compliments on the subject of Ada’s great generosity and hospitality while discreetly handling the bill.</p>
<p>When Hecate, Mlle Jardin, and Marthe finally left the restaurant, Hecate considered upon reflection that it had not been an entire disaster—Mlle Jardin and Marthe were both delightful company. She only wished that she had had something more interesting to say—and that she had had as many experiences with Ada as had Marthe outside of working together in a school, where much of their daily life involved damage control for little girls fooling around with magic.</p>
<p>Marthe gave <i>bises</i> on both cheeks to bid her goodnight, which Hecate endured with patience and a degree of discomfort, which was not insignificantly reduced by the three glasses of wine that she had ended up drinking.</p>
<p>“Thank you for a wonderful evening, Marthe,” Hecate said, once she was released.</p>
<p>“You are most welcome. You were a charming dinner guest. Ada is very lucky to have you in her employ.”</p>
<p>Hecate glowed slightly with this praise, although she hardly felt it justified based on her rather stilted conversation. She hoped—as she walked home—that she might get to hear more stories of Ada’s younger days from Marthe, should they ever meet up in future.</p>
<hr/>
<p>In the aftermath of the dinner, which had, by all evidence, been a success—Hecate still felt uneasy. Ada had not responded to her previous letter that she had written prior to attending the dinner, and Hecate wondered if perhaps she had said something to cause offence.</p>
<p>The words of her own letter plagued her as she labelled potions phials—<i>I have decided to wait on asking Mlle Jardin to take tea with me until after the dinner, in case we should not get along outside of a working environment.</i> Had this implied something of a romantic nature? Was Hecate inadvertently leading Ada to believe that there was something going on between them?</p>
<p>It was only after Hecate began to worry over whether it was improper to eat Ada’s apple sauce with ginger cake and that Ada was judging her for it, that she realised how utterly ridiculous it was to be preoccupied so deeply with Ada’s letters, and she decided to try to formulate a new blend of a focus potion, aiming to eliminate such distracting thoughts as those she was having about Ada. After all—it was not productive for her work, and these thoughts would have to be purged before she returned to Cackle’s.</p>
<p>Ada was her superior, and she thought that perhaps the fact of their relationship changing from one they shared at their workplace and into a personal correspondence that was Hecate’s only link back to Cackle’s was affecting the way she saw her. That must have been what had happened.</p>
<p>Her own last letter had been short. She ought to write another to make up for her brevity. It would not do to wait. That was all—Ada had not responded merely because her letter had not invited response, and she was waiting to be updated about the dinner.</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Hecate finally received a letter from Ada, she was a little put out by its brevity—after all, she had not heard from her in five days—since the 9th, and it was now the 14th—and Hecate had sent two letters in that time. She had brought it to work to read in her lunch break, to only have a few lines to occupy her—and much as she cared for Ada, it was frustrating.</p>
<p>Ada thanked her for putting her back in contact with Marthe, who was to visit for Halloween. Tantalisingly, Ada had also said, <i>I have had a thought about Halloween this year, which I will tell you later for my time is short at the moment.</i></p>
<p>She had time enough for Marthe Théière—but no—that was a cruel, unmannerly thing to think. Yet that last line—<i>I am of course very happy for you, that you and Mlle Jardin are getting along so splendidly</i>—began to haunt her. It rather did seem that Ada was gleaning from Hecate’s letters some kind of closer relationship than Hecate had meant.</p>
<p>Even Ada’s <i>Warmly,</i> looked as though it had taken on a slightly careless angle, as though it were only really a habit that she had of signing off in that way and that the sentiment was not intended at all. She had imagined herself as Ada’s closest friend—and that she was now being replaced by the much more magnanimous Marthe Théière was a reality that she felt she must accept. </p>
<p>She needed, now more than ever, to work on that focus potion, to rid herself of these distracting thoughts, and began to set up her cauldron irritably.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next day, Hecate snapped at one of the doctoral students for leaving one of Hecate’s tools that she had asked to borrow in the wrong place—and that it had not been dried properly. “The enchantment will diminish if it is not looked after in the correct manner,” she had sniped. The student had been notably upset.</p>
<p>Mlle Jardin took her aside at the end of the session as everyone filtered out for their usual extended lunch break—or rather, Mlle Jardin lingered at a safe distance while Hecate swept around the laboratory, spurred on by demonic focus.</p>
<p>“You have been working yourself very hard over the past couple of days, Hecate,” she remarked, raising her eyebrows pointedly.</p>
<p>Hecate did not let the comment slow her stride. In fact, she felt herself glide faster as she began retrieving the ingredients for another testing potion. “There is much to be done, and it is already October.”</p>
<p>“You did not plan for this to take so long?”</p>
<p>“Of course I planned my research time,” Hecate returned sharply, her ears growing hot.</p>
<p>“But you are going to work through lunch again?”</p>
<p>“This is the time when the laboratories are quietest,” Hecate explained, impatient as she stepped around Mlle Jardin to reach her set of measuring scales. She lowered herself to the level of the silver dishes to make sure the acacia bark was exactly counterbalancing the weight she placed in the opposing dish, before she was satisfied.</p>
<p>Mlle Jardin sighed, and deliberately obstructed Hecate’s path back to her cauldron. Hecate’s nostrils flared in barely-contained fury, but Mlle Jardin continued, “When you finally work out what it is that’s bothering you, I will be happy to listen. In the meantime, do not take it out on my students.” </p>
<p>Hecate balked as she watched Mlle Jardin leave. What <i>could</i> she have meant? She was determined to believe that there was nothing at all bothering her—and certainly nothing that she would be comfortable discussing with Mlle Jardin. </p>
<p>Hecate made herself scarce when the time came for everyone to return to the greenhouses. She went down to the archives where Mlle Papillon usually worked, and furiously buried herself in a thesis from 1928 that was not at all of any interest.</p>
<p>She eventually skulked back up to the greenhouse, and hoped no one would see her slip in. Hecate noted with some surprise that there was a plate with a sandwich and a note on her work bench, and no sign of Nina.</p>
<p>
  <i>Hecate,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Try not to work too hard. Often it is as important to sit and reflect as it is to keep your hands busy.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Nina</i>
</p>
<p>Hecate refolded the note and put it in her pocket.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was only by the morning of the next day that Hecate realised her vicious mood the previous day had been exacerbated by the focus potion that she had been testing upon herself. She regretted that she had behaved in such an appalling manner, and hoped that she would be able to make amends.</p>
<p>She decided that today, she would return to the Bibliothèque de botanique. It would give her some space from the greenhouses—and more importantly, allow her to avoid Mlle Jardin until she had to face her for their pre-arranged meeting over tea in the afternoon after work. She had been somewhat looking forward to it—particularly for the opportunity to explore more of the witching district—but after yesterday, she rather regretted making plans so far in advance.</p>
<p>Hecate ventured into the reading room of the Bibliothèque de botanique with some trepidation—Hecate guiltily caught Mme Beauchêne’s eye—for the last time she had been in here, she had caused quite the commotion.</p>
<p>She set down the hybrid plant on the counter, and her brow lifted in an expression of repentance. Mme Beauchêne pushed her glasses up her nose, magnifying her eyes further, and examined the plant with some interest.</p>
<p>“Je suis désolé pour ce qui s’est passé l’autre jour,” Hecate explained, and retrieved the borrowed books from deep in her handbag.</p>
<p>Mme Beauchêne sniffed. She had clearly remembered the incident whereby Hecate had encouraged Marthe Théière to speak in her booming voice across the library—but she took the plant and moved on swiftly to assisting Hecate with her reading list.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate arrived early at the café that she and Mlle Jardin had agreed upon, feeling ill at ease. She watched the door like a hawk, jumping at everyone who came in, until Mlle Jardin appeared.</p>
<p>“Mlle Jardin,” Hecate began uncertainly, getting to her feet awkwardly to greet her.</p>
<p>“Please—call me Nina. I think we are at that stage now.” Nina sat down at the table, and sighed. “Are you all right? After your outburst the yesterday I wondered if your invitation still stood.”</p>
<p>Hecate sighed, and kneaded her brow. “I am afraid that was because of a potion I have been working on—to make the mind keener by reducing distractions. I fear that it may have been a little too potent.”</p>
<p>Nina shook her head. “If anything, Hecate, you need to <i>allow</i> yourself to be distracted. You work harder than any of us. Surely you have time one day to sit down and eat?”</p>
<p>Hecate tried to find a way of explaining that she usually worked through lunch and was not used to the idea of taking a break, but instead found herself agreeing to go to lunch with them, “At some point in the future, perhaps.”</p>
<p>“I hope you don’t mind—I asked my partner Héloïse to join us later. She is doing some shopping at the moment.”</p>
<p>Hecate was slightly taken aback. She had never heard Nina mention a partner before—and certainly Nina had never given the impression of being in a relationship. But why would she have done? They were work associates. Hecate felt foolish for being surprised, and said it was perfectly fine, and moved swiftly onto another topic. </p>
<p>“I have a question for you. My close friend Ada Cackle—you remember, who used to be involved with Marthe.” Hecate paused. It felt awkward still to acknowledge this previous relationship of Ada’s, and it made Hecate wonder again just how little she knew of someone who was supposed to be her oldest and closest friend. “Her birthday is approaching, and I wondered if you knew of any interesting shops here in which I could purchase a gift for her.”</p>
<p>“What does she like, your friend?”</p>
<p>“Ada is very fond of animals—owls,” Hecate said, unable to keep the softest of smiles from her lips. “She also appreciates plants, although they would travel less well, I feel.” There was also Ada’s unfortunate habit of loving her plants to death.</p>
<p>Nina gave her an examining look. “Ah, I see. This friend of yours—not as close a friend as you might wish, hm?”</p>
<p>Hecate looked scandalised at Nina’s implication. “I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>“My apologies if I misinterpreted,” Nina shook her head and raised a hand in acceptance of her mistake, “but the way you light up when you talk about her—anyone would think—”</p>
<p>“She is my <i>headmistress</i>,” Hecate asserted. “Nothing more.”</p>
<p>A moment passed in which Hecate felt an odd sense of bitterness in her throat—a tight, unpleasant feeling—yet when she finally managed to let it go, a profound sense of sadness echoed in her heart that had not been there before.</p>
<p>“I think I can help you, though,” Nina said thoughtfully. Hecate could feel Nina continue to scrutinise her. “My partner Héloïse—she is a very gifted artisan, and she makes— well, I should let her work speak for itself, but I think it is of the kind you are looking for. I am sure she could make something for your Mlle Cackle. When she stops by soon you can ask her for yourself.”</p>
<p>They spoke for some time about work, with Hecate updating her on the research she had done that day at the library. She felt foolish for not having come to talk to Nina beforehand—for hiding away at the library rather than facing Nina in the greenhouses. Nina was very kind, and more understanding than most, and she would do well to remember it.</p>
<p>A witch entered the café at that moment, burdened with many bags, and a soft brown cloak draped around her slender shoulders.</p>
<p>Nina stood at once to kiss her in greeting, taking the bags from her. “A successful shopping trip, ma petite fleur?”</p>
<p>The witch—whom Hecate surmised but be Héloïse—blushed with pleasure, before her eyes fell upon Hecate, whom she seemed surprised to see. “You must be Mlle Hardbroom—” Héloïse said hesitantly, “Héloïse Tournesol. Nina has told me much about you.”</p>
<p>“Indeed?” Hecate swallowed, unsure why she would ever be the subject of discussion.</p>
<p>“I call you <i>la sorcière anglaise</i>—only affectionately, of course,” Nina said teasingly.</p>
<p>Héloïse seemed to apologise for her entire presence as she occupied the seat next to Nina. She was a quiet witch with long, golden blonde hair that was loosely tied back into a plump plait, and a serene expression like the sunflower after which she was named.</p>
<p>“Ma cher,” Nina said, stroking Héloïse’s hand upon the table. “Hecate had a question for you.”</p>
<p>Hecate could not help but be unnerved by this strange new side of Nina. She felt certain that she would have found out that Nina had had a partner before if she had not so stubbornly resisted following her along to all of the long lunches that her colleagues in the laboratory seemed to take.</p>
<p>“Nina tells me that I would be able to commission you to make something for my friend’s birthday.”</p>
<p>Héloïse nodded eagerly. “Of course. I can show you some examples of my work in my shop after this, if you are free.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mlle Tournesol’s was a tiny storefront wedged between a cobbler and a pâtisserie. The windows looked a little dusty, but the pieces on show were exquisite—Hecate’s eye was drawn to a golden face of a clock at the summit of a tower that was carved to look like a tree, with all sorts of creatures and flowers running along the flowing lines of bark.</p>
<p>“Please, come inside,” Héloïse gestured her in. </p>
<p>Nina excused herself, saying that she had something to pick up, leaving Hecate alone with Héloïse.</p>
<p>The shop was larger inside than the outside seemed to suggest—Hecate suspected more witching district sorcery—and absolutely filled with clocks of all different sizes and shapes. A gentle and constant ticking surrounded her as all the clock hands moved in a syncopated rhythm.</p>
<p>“I am influenced greatly by nature,” Héloïse said, breaking the silence with her light voice. “Often the shapes of the carvings are informed by the original piece of wood they are carved from.”</p>
<p>Hecate looked around, a little nervously, for prices. She felt sure that they would cost rather a good portion of her yearly earnings, according to the level of skill and magic that had evidently been put into them. Yet—Ada was too important. Hecate knew that Ada would love one of these—and Hecate felt the pressure of needing to give her the best present possible, just so she could make Ada smile.</p>
<p>“None of these are for sale—these are just show pieces,” Héloïse remarked, anticipating Hecate’s next question. “What type of gift were you thinking? It doesn’t have to be a clock—but they are my favourite things to make. They offer so much scope for enchantments—little creatures that can move on the hour, for example.”</p>
<p>Hecate walked around to where some of the smaller pieces were. “A small mantel-clock like this would be wonderful,” she said, feeling anxiety bloom alongside warmth as she imagined Ada receiving just such a gift. “With owls. Perhaps a cat.”</p>
<p>“Something classic or more natural?” Héloïse began taking notes on a pad.</p>
<p>“A blend of the two,” Hecate said after a pause—she imagined something that reflected Ada’s organic, evolving sense of classical traditions. “If that makes sense.”</p>
<p>“It does. Wonderful. I should be able to get this done for you in about a week.”</p>
<p>They discussed the price, and Hecate was slightly relieved that it was not quite as expensive as she had thought it would be—though it was still very dear. It would be worth it, though, to be able to give Ada a wonderful gift made just for her. It was nothing less than she deserved.</p>
<p>Ada’s birthday at Cackle’s was often marked by a celebration from the girls, which sometimes lacked in enthusiasm—children are not always sympathetic to the feelings of older people. Hecate made a mental note to write to Dimity to remind her of Miss Cackle’s birthday celebration and try to impress upon her the import of honouring the tradition in an appropriate manner.</p>
<p>Nina was waiting outside for them with three large mugs of frothy coffee. Hecate could smell the nutmeg grated on top even from the doorway of Héloïse’s shop.</p>
<p>“Ninette! How did you know I needed a coffee?” Héloïse exclaimed, immediately folding her hands around the mug and taking it from Nina with a kiss to her cheek.</p>
<p>“You had that look in your eye,” Nina said fondly, and handed the other coffee to Hecate. “Hecate—I know you are not much of a coffee drinker, but this is the best coffee in Paris, and you simply cannot go without at least trying it. Perhaps I am biased, for my friend Marceline owns the café where it is made.”</p>
<p>Hecate gratefully accepted the drink, and inhaled its aroma. She had to admit that it was quite exquisite. “I have not had much chance to explore many Parisian delicacies—or any of Paris, frankly.”</p>
<p>Nina looked astounded, and lowered her mug from her lips. “Hecate, do you mean that you have been in Paris all this time and not seen any of it at all?”</p>
<p>“Beyond the libraries and the Académie des botanistes, I cannot say that I have,” Hecate responded stiffly.</p>
<p>Nina shook her head. “You must allow me to take you on a tour of the city. You cannot refuse. I will drag you from your workbench by your hair if necessary.”</p>
<p>“I will come willingly,” Hecate said in a quiet voice, ruffled by the mental image. “After all, Ada said that I ought to take some time to sight-see.”</p>
<p>“Well, if <i>Ada</i> said so, then it must be done,” Nina teased. “You are a fool for that woman.”</p>
<p>Hecate agreed with a slight nod. She did feel very foolish whenever it came to matters of Ada, and Nina’s comments had made her realise that there could be something more than just loyalty and friendship to her feelings—and she felt guilty for them. Ada had not given her any indication that their relationship was anything more than friendly. Her attention was unwarranted and unwanted—and just like a freshly assigned familiar, Hecate was trained on her every word, desperate for any indication of the warmth she felt sure Ada granted to everyone. She was no different from them, she told herself—and wishing for something she could never have would only result in her being hurt.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Following Nina’s offer to take her sight-seeing, Hecate was reminded that she had not yet responded to Ada’s previous letter. She read once more over it. <i>I am of course very happy for you, that you and Mlle Jardin are getting along so splendidly.</i> Hecate felt bile rising in her throat. She knew she ought to write back, even though she felt all the more awful for realising that she was having feelings for Ada.</p>
<p>
  <i>You need no longer worry that I am too busy to take in the sights—Mlle Jardin, upon learning that I had not done so already very kindly offered to be my guide, so I shall be seeing more of her in the next few weeks, I expect.</i>
</p>
<p>It was a nasty little sentence. Hecate could easily have mentioned Héloïse Tournesol, Nina’s charming partner, who had turned up to tea, and whose skills she was commissioning for Ada’s present—but Ada indubitably believed that Hecate and Mlle Jardin were forming some type of romantic inclination, if her tone was anything to go by. If Ada wanted to think that—well, Hecate would not correct her. Her own feelings for Ada were awkward and completely unlooked for, and this, she hoped, would serve as a distraction from those, should Ada by chance suspect anything.</p>
<p>From her nib flowed the words, <i>I trust that you and Mlle Théière will have much to catch up on.</i>—and tears of hot shame bloomed in her eyes as she gazed into the glistening ink that formed the words. It was confusing why she should get so excessively emotional over such a small thing. </p>
<p>Ada had Marthe Théière, and Ada believed that she had Mlle Jardin. It was all very neat. It worked out perfectly—except Hecate hardly thought of Nina in that way at all, and she had a wonderful partner in Mlle Tournesol. Ada thought Hecate did, though—and Hecate knew she had done nothing to persuade her otherwise. </p>
<p>The words of her response slanted across the page, so matter-of-fact. The tone was even. To her mind, it was perhaps a little cool, if one read the letter closely. She was sure that Ada would not.</p>
<p>The envelope felt hot in her hand as she took it to a postbox. She let it go—and immediately regretted even as it slipped from her fingertips and was lost to the air. But—as she reminded herself—perhaps this was for the best.</p>
<hr/>
<p>There was a pregnant gap of two days in which Hecate received no word from Ada.</p>
<p>Every time she saw Nina around, the few wisps of grey glinting against her dark hair only reminded her painfully of Ada’s snow-white hair that she could not help but picture as clearly before her eyes as if she were seeing her sitting at the staff table at breakfast—turning to greet Hecate with the kindest of smiles that she must give to everyone. What a beautiful thing it was to be looked upon by Ada Cackle every day and feel fortunate to merely know her. Hecate had taken that for granted.</p>
<p>On the morning of the 18th, Hecate felt a chill in the air from the windows—so wrapping a scarf about her and tucking it into the breast of her coat, she pulled her door gently closed, locked it, and descended the stairs to leave.</p>
<p>As she passed the pigeon holes, she noticed a small envelope—immediately snatching it up, she gazed at her name and address upon its front and—in a wild panic, dashed back upstairs and fumbled with the keys to the door. Hecate threw herself inside, tore off her gloves, and sliced open the letter at her writing desk. She trembled in the chair, still fully buttoned up in her overcoat, scarf, and hat for her walk outside, with her handbag balanced on her lap, as she slipped the letter from its envelope.</p>
<p><i>Dear Hecate</i>. The breath caught in her throat, ragged. </p>
<p>
  <i>I fear that I may have done something which has upset you. Perhaps I am reading more into your last letter than is there, but if I have upset you or offended you I beg you will tell me what it is that I have done, that I may fix it.<br/>You are very dear to me Hecate, and I would not hurt you for the world.<br/>I remain yours truly,<br/>Ada</i>
</p>
<p>Hecate’s hand shook uncontrollably, as tears sprang into her eyes. She had hurt Ada. That hateful envelope had slipped into the sickeningly yellow post box so thoughtlessly with the weight of her words. She cradled Ada’s letter, frail as a butterfly’s wing, in her cruel hands that had wrought such pain.</p>
<p>She did not know <i>why</i> she begrudged Ada reconnecting with her old flame so much. It was Ada’s choice as to with whom she should spend her time—and she had no evidence to suggest either way that Ada was going to resume a romantic relationship with Marthe Théière. The words were right there on the page—Ada professed she would never want to hurt her, but Hecate had done just such a thing to Ada.</p>
<p>Hecate could not face it—going back out there into the hall, where she would have to see others and wear the burden of her guilt upon her face, where others would be able to read her shame.</p>
<p>She penned a quick note to Nina, informing her that she would not be in today and to postpone the afternoon lecture at which she was meant to be presenting, and transferred it on. After stripping off her outdoor things, and unlacing her boots enough to free her feet, Hecate withdrew into the bedroom. She coiled her fist around a bundle of duvet, and wept. Morgana’s paws dented into the blankets as she padded over and nosed at her tear-streaked face, before the familiar tucked herself into Hecate’s chest.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate felt strange the next morning as she prepared to leave. She felt as if something monumental had shifted within her. The letter she carried in her handbag, still as yet unanswered, was as soothing as it was distressing. Knowing that Ada could <i>tell</i> from her words that she had been upset was a confirmation of the strong bonds of their relationship. After her breakdown the day before, she felt slightly more capable of existence.</p>
<p><i>You are very dear to me Hecate, and I would not hurt you for the world.</i> </p>
<p>She could already smell the soft scent of fruit on the air as she approached the grocer’s on her daily walk to the Académie des botanistes. This morning—she did not know what possessed her—but she decreased her stride and stopped before the selection of wooden crates full of bright and colourful fruits, even visible in the dull morning light. </p>
<p>The owner—whom she had passed many a time before, greeted her with a hopeful, “Bonjour, madame,” and watched as she perused the selection of fruit, though she already knew what she wanted.</p>
<p>Hecate asked about the apples, and he eagerly showed her all the varieties of apple that he had. He seemed particularly enthusiastic about his Reine de Reinettes—of which Hecate knew very little, but assumed that were something of which one should be proud. </p>
<p>She reached out for one of the Reine de Reinettes—gold and red blushed in her black glove.</p>
<p>“Seulement trente cents, madame,” he said in a persuasive tone.</p>
<p>Her gloved hands fumbled at the clasp on her handbag as she attempted to find her coin purse in the expanded depths of the bag in such close proximity to an Ordinary, in plain sight of the street. Seeing her plight, he took the apple from her patiently as she tried to find it without putting her entire arm in to where it was most likely scurrying around in the bottom. She ended up twirling her hand while it was out of sight inside the bag and summoning it directly into her grasp, before unbuttoning the beaded coin purse and handing over a twenty and a ten cent piece. Anyone would think it the first time she had ever paid for anything.</p>
<p>“Merci beaucoup,” Hecate said, as she accepted the Reine de Reinette and walked on, partly mortified, and partly exhilarated at having done something as simple as buy an apple on a whim.</p>
<p>She could have waited to eat the apple—which was enclosed in her hand, firm and full—but she dared to take a bite, right there in the street, and thought of Ada picking apples.</p>
<p>The morning disappeared into a whirl of sample-collecting and noting endless observations, and all had departed for lunch. Hecate, however, sat alone in the empty greenhouse, perched at one of the benches with her dip pen and ink bottle ready. She had reflected on Ada’s words long enough, and it was rather unfair for her to keep her waiting any longer.</p>
<p>Hecate would make her apology brief and non-accusatory. She had realised that her negative attitudes were based on assumptions that only she had made—and Ada was hardly to be blamed for her own confusion over her feelings. </p>
<p>The focus potion was also to blame. It had turned her into a bit of a beast, in all honesty, and poor Ada had been caught at the heart of it, just like that student the other day.</p>
<p>
  <i>I was upset, but not with you, only with myself. I had realised I had been a little foolish, and was still angry with myself when I wrote you that letter. I had rather not talk about it. I beg your pardon for letting my feelings bleed through into my note. I should not have done that.</i>
</p>
<p>It was honest, without revealing too much or venturing into the inappropriately personal. Hecate resolved, on reviewing her words, that she would devote herself to supporting Ada. That was all Ada had ever done for her—and that was how such a beautiful soul as Ada should be treated.</p>
<p>To try to move on from the awkwardness of admitting herself to be at fault, Hecate added a line asking about the Halloween plans that Ada had hinted at before. Hopefully she would not be too busy that she could not answer that—but Hecate would try her best to be understanding if Ada was too snowed under to make a full response.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I honestly cannot believe that you live so close to the Louvre, and you have never noticed it before,” Nina said, mock-despairingly exaggerating her words. “Hecate, you can be so— stuck in that head of yours.”</p>
<p>Hecate raised her eyebrows in a look of nonchalance. “Seeing what Ordinaries have to offer the world of art was never part of my intentions in coming here.”</p>
<p>“Not all of the artists featured in the Louvre are Ordinaries. Some of them are our kind,” Héloïse offered in her quiet voice from the other side of Nina.</p>
<p>It was a fresh morning, and Hecate, Nina, and Héloïse were all dressed in warm coats for their sight-seeing tour. Héloïse had quite eagerly agreed to come along for the morning before she had to open her shop in the witching district. Nina always stood a little prouder when Héloïse was there—it was quite lovely to see both so charmed with the other’s presence. Hecate only regretted that she had never found anyone like that who felt the same way about her.</p>
<p>As Nina complimented Héloïse in French far too fluid and romantic for Hecate to follow, Hecate took the time to admire the grandeur of the buildings around them. She had gained a small amount of appreciation for the city and its architecture, now that she had become accustomed to it. </p>
<p>The courtyard of the Louvre came into view—it was vast, and filled with more people than Hecate had ever seen together in her life. It was a moment before she realised that the throng was in fact, a queue to enter the building through the glass pyramid, and she felt herself grow dizzy.</p>
<p>“I suppose we had better join the masses,” she sighed, wondering why her companions had not pressed on to begin queueing.</p>
<p>“Oh no, we aren’t going in that way,” Héloïse said, hesitantly. “The best way to enjoy the Louvre is from our side.” </p>
<p>Hecate, intrigued, followed as they walked on past the courtyard, heading towards the nearby colonnades, where they headed past a fashion boutique to a discreet doorway, which Hecate knew to be a portal. They stepped through to what appeared from the outside to be an outdoor storage space—but encountered instead that thick layer of air and the whirl of purple light with which Hecate was by now all too familiar.</p>
<p>They exited out into the courtyard of the Louvre, which was now much emptier—and the glass pyramid stood almost solitary. Now visible were all the magical folk who had been merely a breath away in the echo of the Ordinary world—jeans and jackets were replaced with sweeping robes and cloaks. Where the Ordinaries had been holding up their rectangular devices to the air in front of the pyramid—there was mostly empty space, and there was not even the indication of a queue.</p>
<p>“I am certainly glad that I did not attempt to visit by myself,” Hecate remarked.</p>
<p>Nina and Héloïse’s coats lengthened and became cloaks—which seamlessly blended them in with the garb of those around them. Hecate blinked as this transformation took place.</p>
<p>“They are enchanted to become Ordinary-looking when there are non-magical people nearby,” Héloïse explained, noting Hecate’s surprise.</p>
<p>“I can show you where they sell them later,” Nina told her. “Since you will be here some months.”</p>
<p>Hecate did not know whether her stipend would stretch to a new cloak—especially when she already had a cloak that had lasted the years adequately, and she had been quite happy to find her present coat with a capelet as a kind of consolation for not being able to wear a cloak—even if it did make her look slightly historical. </p>
<p>“Not that you don’t look fine as you are,” Héloïse assured her hastily.</p>
<p>They entered the main building through the underground lobby beneath the pyramid, unhindered by the crowds of Ordinaries, to whom they were but an unexplained cold shiver in the air. There were quite the number of magical folk speaking all manner of languages about them—but nowhere near the numbers of Ordinary tourists.</p>
<p>Hecate was muted as she walked about the artworks—Héloïse’s commentary about the magical—and Ordinary—artists and their masterpieces failed to fully penetrate her thoughts as she drifted along behind the couple. The words of her apology letter goaded her. She was concerned that she had ruined the correspondence with Ada completely—and their friendship—in her delay to answer Ada’s last. Perhaps she would need a few days to process, as Hecate had done. She wished that she could return home—even just for a moment—to see if she had yet received a reply, even though it was mere hours since she had sent it.</p>
<p>Héloïse was persuaded to stay for a quick lunch in a quiet café in the witching district, even though she insisted she <i>must</i> go, and that her poor assistant was left to mind the shop on her own—but a kiss from Nina so passionate that Hecate was obliged to turn away to avoid blushing convinced her that she should stay—and Hecate spent the whole lunch determinedly trying to rid her mind of strange thoughts of Marthe Théière kissing Ada in just such a manner, which she might well be doing in a few days’ time. She stroked the café’s cat, who had chosen her lap to occupy, and sipped her tea through pursed lips.</p>
<p>Héloïse eventually managed to extract herself from Nina and disappeared down the street to her shop, while Hecate and Nina headed back to the Ordinary world, taking a shortcut to place them closer to where they needed to be.</p>
<p>They re-entered, Hecate trusting that Nina knew where she was going—for she certainly had no idea. The street widened out as they came upon a fountain, littered with coins gathering in the bottom of the tiered basin. Nina had chosen a wonderful day to show her the beauty of Paris—the leaves were still mostly clinging to the branches of the trees in clusters of vibrant yellows and reds.</p>
<p>Nina saw her eyes meandering over the trees and gave a knowing smile. “You should see it in the spring—it is far more pretty.”</p>
<p>“I have always preferred the autumn,” Hecate murmured. “When the leaves show in one last colourful display before they turn themselves free to the wind.”</p>
<p>Hecate was feeling unusually wistful—perhaps it was her admission of her guilt to Ada in her last letter—that now she was finally giving voice to some of the thoughts she held inside that she had thought would interest no one.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you are a <i>professeure</i>? Perhaps you should have been a <i>poétesse</i>,” Nina said with a playful nudge of her elbow.</p>
<p>“I should think I would not be a very entertaining poet,” Hecate responded quietly. </p>
<p>They came upon a vast cobblestoned square—vehicles of all kinds sped past, dizzying Hecate even as she stood on the spot. </p>
<p>The lights indicated they could cross the road, but Hecate was too slow and watched Nina disappear behind a stream of cars, and then lost sight of her completely. She crossed over, and then from that mid-point in the road looked left and right.</p>
<p>Hecate searched the street signs, but only found places she had heard of, but had no frame of reference for where they were geographically. With a twinge in her stomach as though her foot had missed a step, Hecate realised she was completely lost. She was not sure even from which direction they had come—from this perspective, it could have been any of the streets—for they all looked just as foreign to her.</p>
<p>She discreetly retrieved the <i>British Witches’ Guide to Paris</i> from her magically-enhanced handbag and flicked to the map, opening it out and attempted to mutter a spell to reveal her location, but there were too many people about her.</p>
<p>Hecate was shaken by a tugging on her arm. “Hecate— why did you come this way? Stay close.”</p>
<p>“How— how did you find me in all these crowds?”</p>
<p>“It was not hard. I looked for the idiot with her eyes glued to a paper map in the age of the smartphone. Come on, now.”</p>
<p>Nina linked arms with her and dragged her across the street in the correct direction. Hecate felt awkward to be physically connected with Nina—her body felt unsettlingly close to Nina’s as they walked together, but part of her also felt slightly protected from the perils of the Ordinaries about her. </p>
<p>Nina informed her that were travelling south, towards the river Seine, where there was something that might interest her. She pointed out various famous buildings on the way, saying that some featured in Ordinary media and were popular tourist attractions for those reasons—Hecate took her word for it. The street eventually opened out onto the river front, and they crossed the road to get a closer look.</p>
<p>“Here are the famous bouquinistes of Paris,” Nina said, and gestured towards the stalls in front of them lining the walls of the river. </p>
<p>On closer inspection, Hecate realised that all of the stalls were made up of the same dark green boxes that opened up, revealing their contents—books as far as the eye could see. The sellers sat nearby, reading, or were on their feet, bartering with their customers. It was incredible to behold quite so many books. </p>
<p>“Do you know if any of these are—<i>our kind</i>?”</p>
<p>“In our district, yes,” Nina replied. “We should go there sometime—but for today at least, my task is to show you what can be enjoyed in Ordinary Paris. Of course—with the exception of the Louvre, unless you wanted to be queueing for hours upon end.”</p>
<p>Hecate agreed. “But perhaps—if it is not too much of a bother—we might see it another time.”</p>
<p>“I would be delighted. You can hardly see everything Paris has to offer in one day, after all.”</p>
<p>As they were walking through the stalls, Nina spoke up again. “Hecate, there is something I have been meaning to ask you. I imagine you don’t have any plans for Halloween?”</p>
<p>Hecate blinked in surprise. Of course she had considered what she would do for Halloween. It was the most sacred day of the witching calendar. “I had intended to observe it with some quiet reflection alone with my familiar.”</p>
<p>“Then—you do not have any plans,” Nina said wryly.</p>
<p>Hecate raised her eyebrows, disagreeing politely. </p>
<p>“I have been invited to—let us say, a less traditional affair—more of a party—and I wondered if you might—”</p>
<p>“—Absolutely not,” Hecate interjected.</p>
<p>Nina held up her hand. “I was going to say— Héloïse is going to a traditional Halloween observance with her coven and I hoped you might accompany her.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” Hecate said, wishing she had not jumped so quickly to conclusions. She watched as the Ordinaries milled around, picking up yellowing second-hand books or pointing out interesting art prints to their companions.</p>
<p>“But of course, you already said you are not interested,” Nina smirked. “But do you think that you would like to go?”</p>
<p>Hecate did not know Mlle Tournesol too well, beyond the two occasions she had met her, but she seemed pleasant enough. Hecate thought of Ada, and how the school was to be celebrating Halloween. This seemed like a wonderful opportunity that she would not have again soon—the chance to partake in a Halloween celebration that did not revolve around damage control of whatever fresh disaster that young witches of Cackle’s had brewed up.</p>
<p>“I would love to accompany Mlle Tournesol,” Hecate responded.</p>
<p>“She will be over the moon,” Nina smiled.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate returned to 267 rue Saint-Honoré, her limbs tired from the walking—they had visited several more places of interest in Paris after the bouquinistes, taking shortcuts through the witching district where possible—and she was now exhausted. Her tiredness faded as she spied Ada’s response waiting for her in the pigeon hole—and as she picked it up, the envelope felt thick with her answer. She felt the anticipation of Ada’s chastisement bubble up inside her. It was all she deserved for making Ada hurt over something that was her fault.</p>
<p>Several sheets of paper were within—and Hecate marvelled that Ada had so quickly responded and at such length. However eager Hecate was to read Ada’s response, nothing could have prepared her for what she had written.</p>
<p>
  <i>Dear Hecate,<br/>I will of course not press you if you do not wish to speak of it, but as your friend I will say one thing. I know how important standards are you, how hard you strive for perfection, but we can none of us be perfect, and I hope you will remember that making mistakes does not make you a bad person. I fear that sometimes you are a little unforgiving of yourself. We are but human, and therefore we err, from time to time. You are a remarkable woman, Hecate, and a remarkable witch. I feel so very fortunate that our paths crossed and that you chose to take the potions mistress position. I would be the poorer in so many ways had you not.</i>
</p>
<p>Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. Hecate knew she was guilty of striving too hard for perfection, beyond what was healthy for one person to endure. The long hours she had spent already in the libraries here, the isolation from her peers, the sickening guilt when she had taken days off, working even in the evenings and weekends in her Parisian flat—these all were evidence that even—and perhaps even especially—during her sabbatical, she was still taking her work more seriously than her health. </p>
<p>It was so difficult to accept that Ada had such a high opinion of her. <i>You are a remarkable woman, Hecate, and a remarkable witch.</i> She did not deserve such praise—particularly after how she felt she had been unkind to Ada—and yet it warmed her heart, and she dared to dwell on the thought that Ada cared about her enough to write these things.</p>
<p>Hecate avidly flipped over to the next leaf of paper, only to discover that Ada had started writing of the Halloween celebrations. Dear as any words were in Ada’s hand, she found almost none of the rest of the letter sinking in after the impact of the first page.</p>
<p>It was not until she reached the part where Ada had written, <i>I can perfectly imagine your horrified reaction to this idea</i>, that she went back to re-read—except that as astonished as she felt to discover what Ada had meant—that they were allowing the students of Pentangle’s and Cackle’s to suggest Halloween activities—her hackles could not honestly be further from being raised, for she was still softened and humbled by Ada’s words.</p>
<p>Hecate found more of her concentration pouring back into the letter—and as she did so, wished that she could be there to impart some tradition into the celebrations. Post-punk music and <i>marshmallows</i>? Hecate let out a long breath through her nose. It was not her responsibility—Ada was handling this—and she was more than capable. Hecate suspected that in part Ada was teasing her.</p>
<p>She passed her hand over the bottom of the last leaf, where Ada had signed her name. <i>With much affection I remain</i>. Hecate felt warmth blooming in her heart again. </p>
<p>Hecate put down the letter, and crossed to the kitchen. She smiled to herself as she made a pot of tea, wondering what Ada was doing at that very moment.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate stood by the window, looking out onto the skies that hung grey over the streets. It was half past seven and the sun had not yet begun to rise. She flicked an idle hand at her teapot to boil the water as she watched a car trundle along a blue-shadowed road, the front lights beaming ahead of it. It felt like it would be a good day.</p>
<p>She set out at a quarter past eight, aiming to arrive in time for the building’s opening, as always. The air had the feel of being near dawn—and it energised Hecate as she heard her footsteps ring out in the quiet street.</p>
<p>She paused by the grocer’s to see the shopkeeper smoking outside, awaiting her with a smile. Hecate already had the thirty cents in her hand, which she exchanged for a single one of his Pink Lady apples, thinking of Ada’s pink jumper.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate had been having quite the productive day, writing up experiment notes alongside some research she had done in the library recently, and had just been about to start on some brewing—but the greenhouse laboratory door opened quite unexpectedly, at the end of the day. Hecate looked around, surprised—for only she and Nina were both working late—to see Héloïse, who looked down when Hecate caught her eye. There was some wood dust clinging to her dress.</p>
<p>“Héloïse!” Nina almost dropped the measuring flask she was levitating back onto the shelf and rushed over to kiss her. “I was just tidying up here. What brings you over here?”</p>
<p>Héloïse put her arm on Nina’s shoulder and said something quietly to her. Hecate returned to her work while they spoke, but it was not long before Nina called over to her.</p>
<p>“Hecate, let us take you to dinner,” Nina said to Hecate.</p>
<p>“Now?” Hecate queried, eyeing her experiment longingly. She had just set up her cauldron and was about to try a new combination of differently prepared herbs in a standard memory-boosting potion.</p>
<p>“Yes, of course <i>now</i>. It is almost half past seven. Whatever you are doing can wait.” Nina flicked a hand and the fire went out from beneath Hecate’s cauldron.</p>
<p>Hecate pursed her lips but continued to tidy her samples away. After all, they were offering to take her out to dinner, which was generous. Hecate became suspicious—it was not as though Nina and Héloïse were not usually generous people—they were—but the unexpected visit, and Héloïse’s manner when she had come in pointed towards something amiss.</p>
<p>The three of them walked to the restaurant—a little bistro run by a young witch couple off the main street. Hecate felt a little like a third person in a double broomstick act, following on a little apart from Nina and Héloïse—a feeling not assuaged when they arrived at the bistro and sat close together in the converted pew seat, while Hecate sat alone opposite them on a chair.</p>
<p>They ordered their food and drink—Nina ordering in rapid French for her and Héloïse, and Hecate at an overly self-conscious pace, reminded just how slowly Nina usually spoke for her benefit. One of the owners brought a bottle of wine and some glasses for them, greeting Nina and Héloïse and giving a polite smile to Hecate. </p>
<p>“I have good news—and unfortunately also bad news,” Héloïse began nervously, taking a sip of her wine.</p>
<p>“Start with the good news,” Nina said, rubbing Héloïse’s hand affectionately.</p>
<p>“I was visited by a relatively high-profile member of the Association européenne de sorcellerie last week,” Héloïse said, giving a hesitant smile. “She liked my work so much that she paid double the commission fee upfront in full for a rush order.”</p>
<p>“That must be such a wonderful feeling, to have your work appreciated by someone of such a status,” Hecate said, already anticipating the bad news.</p>
<p>“Which means—you have probably guessed—that your friend’s birthday present will not be ready in time.”</p>
<p>Hecate felt her heart drop in disappointment. She had been hoping to send her parcel in advance of Ada’s birthday—for she liked to be very prompt with such things. “I understand perfectly, and you have made the correct decision,” Hecate said, with certainty. “This commission may lead to even more opportunities for you—and furthermore it must be a great honour to work for someone well-regarded in the witching community.”</p>
<p>Héloïse nodded sadly. “But I feel terrible for letting you down!”</p>
<p>“You should not,” Hecate said simply. “You have not let me down. Ada will not mind. She usually tries to convince me that I do not need to give her a present at all.”</p>
<p>“If you are sure,” Héloïse frowned.</p>
<p>“I am. And I am confident that you will do well on both commissions.”</p>
<p>As Nina congratulated her and led them all in a toast to her success, Hecate privately pitied Héloïse—it must have felt awful to prioritise. Hecate was only disappointed that she would be late with her gift, not with Héloïse. She thought about how fond she had grown of the both of them, and drank to their health.</p>
<p>“It will be ready before Halloween, I promise,” Héloïse said, just as their food was brought over to them.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate at last found herself with a moment to respond to Ada’s last letter. Ada had asked about her Halloween plans, and Hecate wrote of Nina’s request—or was it an offer—for her to go with Héloïse to the traditional observance of Halloween, while Nina herself went to something more exuberant. She was feeling ever more hopeful about this event, and was even quite looking forward to it.</p>
<p>Hecate glanced down at the original letter to which she was replying again, and was unpleasantly reminded of the <i>marshmallow scheme</i> that Pippa Pentangle was proposing. She discouraged Ada strongly from such a course of action, although as it was not her responsibility to clean up after such antics, she did not wish that task upon Ada. It was fairly fruitless to attempt to maintain any kind of adherence to tradition where Pippa was concerned, so there was very little use trying to talk her down from her ludicrous ideas about Halloween being a happy celebration. <i>I shall not waste paper in the attempt.</i></p>
<p>Hecate guiltily thought about the article that Ada had suggested to her—how long ago had it been now? Three weeks. The time had passed more quickly than she had thought. She had been very involved in the initial parts of her research and had neglected almost everything else until quite recently. Hecate wrote down that she would attempt to go to the Bibliothèque nationale de magie, if only to force herself to go—now that she had told Ada, it would mean that she would have to accomplish it.</p>
<p>She knew she must address Ada’s comforting words, her praise of her. She had been avoiding it—for acknowledging it was to accept it, and that was not something she felt she could do easily. Yet—she did not wish to offend Ada, and it was important to try to make her feel that she was helping.</p>
<p><i>You are very kind, Ada, and I know I would not be who I am today without you and your influence.</i> Hecate managed to turn Ada’s praise back to her. It was deflection, but it was a start. <i>Your kind words meant more to me than I can tell you.</i> It was indeed more than she could tell Ada—for inside, she knew where her heart lay—she knew that regardless of what was to happen with Marthe when she visited Ada at Cackle’s, Hecate would remain silent on the matter until Ada gave some kind of further indication.</p>
<p><i>Warmly, Hecate</i> She looked at the word <i>Warmly</i> she had just written. Had that been a mistake? No— she— she meant it. She only had warm feelings for Ada. She merely hoped that they were reciprocated, even if only platonically.</p>
<hr/>
<p>After a long day of research and eye strain at the Bibliothèque nationale de magie, Hecate briefly stopped by at the laboratory to take some quick measurements from her samples and deposit her notes. Nina brightened to see her, and took off the protective gloves she was using to handle some hazardous samples.</p>
<p>“Oh, Hecate— there was something I meant to give you earlier, but you were not in.” Nina took something from her pile of personal belongings and handed her a thin volume bound in green cloth from her bench. “It is the story of the first covens, in French. Héloïse mentioned that you could give a recitation from it, if you wanted, at the Halloween observance.”</p>
<p>“Do pass on my thanks,” Hecate said, opening the book thoughtfully and looking at the lines of French. “It would be an honour to participate.”</p>
<p>When Hecate arrived back at her building, her spirits lifted to see a letter from Ada. Picking it up, it seemed quite thin—as if there were only one sheet of paper within.</p>
<p>Her suspicions were correct—it was very short—only a line. For a moment, Hecate worried that her last letter had been too much—that she had revealed too many of her feelings with that <i>Warmly</i> and that somehow, everything had gone wrong—or that Ada had realised that Hecate would already have sent her gift by now, since it was the day before her birthday, and was disappointed.</p>
<p>When her tired eyes focused on the actual words—she read that Ada was asking if she could give Pippa Pentangle her address. Apparently Pippa had been asking after her. </p>
<p>Then she saw the last line, and she thought her heart stopped.</p>
<p>
  <i>Yours,<br/>Ada</i>
</p>
<p><i>Yours</i>. Perhaps it was just an abbreviation of <i>Yours truly</i> or <i>Yours sincerely</i>. Yet—Ada had never signed off with anything resembling that before. But she could not draw conclusions from a single instance of something, even though <i>Yours</i> sounded unequivocally romantic in her mind. She dared to let it flutter in her heart. It was wishful thinking, maybe, but—potentially.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate carried Ada’s <i>Yours</i> around with her like a talisman. She could barely keep from smiling—even now, in the greenhouse laboratory as she went about her workday with a lively attitude.</p>
<p>“Did something good happen, or are you just pleased to see me?” Nina asked dryly as she came in after her shift at the library. </p>
<p>“Nothing in particular,” Hecate said airily, although she was practically dancing around the lab.</p>
<p>“You’re a terrible liar, but I will let you have your secret,” Nina retorted. </p>
<p>Hecate felt a new freshness in the air around her—colours seemed to have more <i>meaning</i> somehow—she felt so light she was certain she was about to levitate right off the ground—and even though her thoughts were quite occupied, she felt more focus and purpose than she had done when she had tried that odious anti-distraction potion.</p>
<p>With inspiration flowing through her, energising her very fingertips, Hecate looked back at her list of each herb’s properties and responses under various means of preparation. She would pour this energy into further testing.</p>
<p>Hecate drew up a range of combinations, marking ten separate workbench cauldrons, and carefully measured out slightly different quantities of the herbs—to the milligram, setting the tiniest of weights on the scales. She considered that perhaps a longer, slower brewing time would encourage greater release of the herbs’ properties, and cast a timer spell to notify her when an hour would be up. Rather than stirring each potion by hand, Hecate charmed some spoons to do the stirring—which also meant she could maintain an even and reproducible result.</p>
<p>Hecate took notes as she monitored the cauldrons, marking down the time of any colour changes. The potions with more <i>mentha aquatica</i> than <i>menyanthes trifoliata</i> changed colour rather quickly, whereas the less <i>mentha aquatica</i>, the slower the colour change. This change in this particular memory potion signified an important magical reaction between the ingredients, which usually one looked for later in the brewing process. </p>
<p>She could not consider any of these failures without stringently evaluating them first. Hecate asked Nina if she would assist her in the testing of the potion by providing lists of data from her experiments for her to test how the potion altered her ability of recall. Nina, who was presently quite bored, waiting for her own set of potions to cool off slowly—for a spell to cool them instantly would ruin the effects of the fresh tulip buds she had added in the cooling liquid—agreed, and offered to be a second test subject to corroborate the results. They had a selection of reversal potions on hand to counter any ill effects.</p>
<p>They tried each one, and exchanged particularly non-memorable sheets of data points. Some of the effects were slightly alarming—most improved their memory to the effect that the usual potion had, but one of the potions that had changed colour the most rapidly caused Hecate to forget where she was—she accidentally called Nina by a student’s name, and told her that she would be put into detention if she were to continue behaving in such an appalling manner, for Nina was desperately trying to get her to drink the reversal potion. Poor Nina had to force the antidote down her throat, at which point Hecate felt her memory trickling back, and was very embarrassed. Nina allowed her to soothe her wounded ego with a fortifying tea break.</p>
<p>Recuperating after the blow to her dignity, Hecate and Nina resumed the potion trials.</p>
<p>“You do not have to continue to assist me if you do not wish to,” Hecate sighed, as she decanted the remaining potions into phials.</p>
<p>“You have me intrigued, to be honest. And my day has been far from thrilling otherwise. Potions experimentation is a good change of pace.”</p>
<p>Hecate thanked her profusely—for it was quite difficult to check one’s accuracy on one’s own. </p>
<p>Taking the next phial in her hand, Hecate tipped it into her mouth and swallowed—this one had had the infusion of two grams of two grams of <i>mentha aquatica</i> and four and a half grams of <i>menyanthes trifoliata</i> added to the memory potion. She glanced at the fresh sheet of data—columns and rows of numbers and decimal points and technical observations for the allotted ten seconds—and then waited for five minutes, before she reeled off the strings of numbers as if they were second-nature, accurately relaying all eighty-four data points without hesitation. She raised her hand to her mouth as soon as she had finished—</p>
<p>“Hecate! That was it!” Nina exclaimed.</p>
<p>“Quickly, give me another set of data,” Hecate urged her. “We need to see for how long this will be effective.”</p>
<p>They repeated the test, and after five minutes, Hecate could again call out the list of numbers as if she had known them her entire life. In the third attempt, however, she found that she had no clue as to what the data had been.</p>
<p>“It was about thirteen and a half minutes when I could no longer picture the data points,” Hecate said, hurriedly scribbling down the findings.</p>
<p>“Incroyable!” Nina said, beaming. “Being able to make a potion that gives you an actual eidetic memory for any length of time is a great achievement.”</p>
<p>Hecate was reluctant to call it a success without further evidence it would have the same effect in others. They tried the same potion with Nina, to very similar effectiveness. It was getting quite late, however, and Nina received a note from Héloïse asking if she was still in the laboratory.</p>
<p>“I think that is quite a good point to pause,” Hecate said as she stored phials of the less successful attempts, and cleaned out the cauldrons. “I will brew another batch tomorrow to see if it works on a larger sample size.”</p>
<p>Nina said that she should send a note Mlle Papillon to put out a call for participants. “I think you will see very similar effects, though.”</p>
<p>“My next task will be trying to extend the effectiveness. I shall have to scour the library for anything that might help.” </p>
<p>“Don’t forget to enjoy your success,” Nina chided her. “You worked well today. Whatever it is that put that smile on your face today—keep doing that.”</p>
<p>Hecate thought of Ada’s letter again. <i>Yours</i>. “I shall try.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>True to her word, the very next day, Hecate took her notes to the Bibliothèque de botanique to find a compatible spell enhancement that would lengthen the duration of her memory potion’s effective use. and requested a number of texts on potion enhancement. Hecate noted with delight that the plant she had given to Mme Beauchêne was still behind the counter, in a new pot—and that she gave Hecate a vague smile. It was an improvement on the sharp look of disdain. </p>
<p>Hecate had surmised that she would need to find a range of different enhancement techniques or ingredients, and test them to see if they would interact well with the present potion. Anything that altered the viscosity, acidity, temperature, or length of brewing time ran the risk of neutralising the very effect she had worked so hard to create.</p>
<p>Hecate always found that library time worked very differently from usual time—she had been reading for what only felt like half an hour when she realised it was past lunchtime. She was resolved by that point to forge on—for she had told herself that she was not to write to Ada until she had made her way through the stack of books and research papers next to her. </p>
<p>After several more hours—and a deepened hunger that she regretted not taking the time to relieve—Hecate finally finished with the books, feeling that her eyes could barely focus on another word—and took out her correspondence paper. Irritatingly, some of the texts made reference to other texts that she knew that she needed to check before she left—she was not quite done, but she did not want to put off writing to Ada any longer.</p>
<p>Hecate wished Ada a happy birthday, since it was her birthday tomorrow and she would end up sending the letter after Ada had gone to bed at this rate. She realised that she ought to address the delay in the birthday present, and gave her apologies—not mentioning the cause of the delay, but assuring her that she would have something to open by Halloween at the latest.</p>
<p>She also wrote all about the breakthrough she had had only yesterday, when she had been in the throes of that <i>Yours</i> Ada had written. She tried hard to impress upon Ada that the work was not yet complete—but she was certain that Ada would take the breakthrough all out of proportion, even though it had not been fully tested.</p>
<p>Hecate enquired hesitatingly about the “post punk Halloween ballad”, before giving her regrets that she could not write for much longer, since the library was due to close. Glancing about, she was the only one remaining. She felt guilty for writing a personal correspondence in this time, since she was sure that the Mme Beauchêne would have closed the library if not for her. She signed off, smiling as she did so, and went back to her work.</p>
<p>
  <i>With warmest affection,<br/>Hecate</i>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Hecate awoke, her first thought as she tightened her grip around a handful of duvet was that it was Ada’s birthday, and that she would be soon waking up in her rooms in the castle, Pendle nearby. She wondered if Pendle slept with her on the bed—if he snuggled under the covers with her, soft and warm—or if he had a special sleeping spot in her bedroom or sitting room, somewhere out of the natural draughts that flowed about the ancient castle.</p>
<p>As she was thinking this, Morgana padded over and nosed her face expectantly. Hecate stroked the soft fur on her head before extricating herself from bed and filling Morgana’s bowl with a tin of Familiar Feast and heating it to the exact temperature that she preferred. It was fortunate that Hecate had been able to find Morgana’s favourite brand of cat food in one of the magical shops Nina had told her about, for Morgana could be very fussy about food.</p>
<p>Hecate showered, dressed, arranged her hair—wishing that she could be spending the day with Ada, but knowing that she had important work to do.</p>
<p>Hecate found Ada’s letter waiting for her downstairs as she went to leave the building—she smiled at the way it felt so routine—so comforting—to know that Ada would respond to her letters as promptly as she could. It was still quite early—she hoped Ada had slept well and that the letter’s presence was not a sign of a sleepless night.</p>
<p>On her way to work, Hecate bought her usual Pink Lady apple—which by now, the grocer had realised was her favourite, for he had ordered some more—yesterday he had run out. She smiled as she considered how Ada’s influence had stretched as far as Paris without her even knowing.</p>
<p>Hecate read Ada’s letter when she arrived at the Académie des botanistes, unable to wait until lunch. Nina was working at the library today, and Hecate could guarantee that she would be alone in the greenhouse for a while before anyone would disturb her on account of the hour.</p>
<p>Apparently Gwen had warmed up to the “post punk Halloween ballad”, which Hecate now learnt had the name “Punky Night Redux”. It was very troubling. Hecate wondered if Gwen might be losing her marbles somewhat. She shuddered at the thought of the repulsive tones of this Punky Night Redux echoing through the corridors of the castle, and hoped that this would not elicit any new additions to the Chanting syllabus. Gwen’s comments that it was <i>a remarkable and unusual composition</i> and a <i>mind-broadening experience</i> were deeply concerning, and Hecate knew that she would have to intervene upon her return if this were to happen. She knew of the existence of <i>alternative chanting</i> but wanted to discourage this from ever occurring at Cackle’s. The hallowed halls of Cackle’s Academy would never be corrupted by such nonsense—not under her watchful eye.</p>
<p>Hecate noted that Ada did not mention the delayed present at all, and made a great fuss about her breakthrough and how proud she was of Hecate. It made her heart rise in her chest to read, even though she knew that there was still a great deal of testing to be done. Even on Ada’s own birthday—Hecate sighed—Ada was still bolstering others instead of herself. Hecate only hoped that the girls had prepared something pleasant for her birthday, and that Dimity had followed through with her promise to make sure it was appropriate. </p>
<p>She also expressed her nerves over Marthe visiting—<i>It’s been so long since I last saw her. I know it is a silly thought, but what if we don’t get along anymore? What if we are so different that we no longer have anything in common?</i>—Hecate struggled with her worries over the fact that Ada and Marthe could very well find they got on altogether too well—but squashed the thought. She would be supportive, were that to happen. She cared for Ada too much to shun her over that.</p>
<p><i>I shouldn’t be bothering you with this</i>. Hecate sighed. What would it take for Ada to see that her problems were just as important as anyone else’s? Of course Hecate wanted to be bothered with this—she certainly favoured that over Ada exaggerating a minor breakthrough.</p>
<p>Ada had signed off with <i>Yours, Ada</i> again. Hecate smiled, and took up her pen to write her response. Her write-up could wait.</p>
<p>Hecate wrote of her despair over the continuation of the “Punky Night Redux” saga. She certainly hoped Ada could find it within her to put her foot down—even though Ada was far too nice a person to refuse it. If only Hecate was there to be Miss Hardbroom and outright forbid it.</p>
<p>It did not make sense that Ada was so worried about reuniting with Marthe Théière. Marthe seemed to love everyone—at least, anyone connected to Ada Cackle. She wanted to squeeze Ada’s hand and tell her everything would work out—or better yet, be present at the time of her stay, so that in the unlikely event that Marthe were to be rude to Ada (although Hecate could not ponder the possibility of either Marthe being deliberately cruel or Ada doing anything that might provoke such cruelty), she would be able to resolve things with an even head—though she doubted her head were anything but even where Ada was concerned these days. </p>
<p>She supposed she herself had been frightfully distraught over meeting Pippa again after all those years, and after all those unsaid apologies. She had worried it had been too late. The circumstances were certainly far different—Marthe actually <i>wanted</i> and had <i>requested</i> to see Ada—but she wrote her experience of it to reassure Ada all the same—that it had gone better than she had thought, despite them parting on such bad terms.</p>
<p>
  <i>You said you had parted on good terms, and anyone who once held you in affection could not but help to continue to do so. You are one of the best people that I know. You are kind to a fault, and have a generous and loving heart. You see the best in people, and in most cases that inspires the people around you to be the best versions of themselves that they can be.</i>
</p>
<p>Her pen had quite run away with itself. Hecate blinked down at the page, wondering if she should erase at least some of this effusion of affection—but no—determinedly <i>no</i>—this was what Ada needed and deserved to hear.</p>
<p>Hecate reassured her that it would be a success—and she meant it. <i>Please try not to worry, Ada. I have every confidence that you will have a splendid time together.</i> She finished with what had become her usual <i>Warmly, Hecate</i>, feeling in her heart the warmth she always felt when she thought of Ada, before turning to the less appealing task of her work—but with a sense of peace in her chest.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate was very irritated indeed by the clocks changing that late October morning. Though she was forearmed against it, she had opened her eyes at what felt like five-thirty to only see that it was half past four in the morning. Morgana could <i>not</i> understand why it was that Hecate was not getting up immediately to feed her, and danced around her head when she rolled over, poking her whiskers into Hecate’s nose until Hecate pressed her face into the other pillow.</p>
<p>Morgana started a loud protest at five—at which point Hecate’s full bladder, which was also used to a certain schedule, meant that she had to get up to use the bathroom. Morgana followed her in and hopped up onto her lap as she used the toilet, then demanded Hecate let her drink from the tap. She felt cruel for turning off the tap when she left the bathroom, but she could hardly leave it running. Morgana kept licking the opening of the tap with her rough pink tongue to try to make more water appear. </p>
<p>Hecate had hoped that Morgana was sufficiently distracted by the tap and that she would allow Hecate to slip back into bed—for tired as she was not, she had to adjust to the new hour—and perhaps more sleep could not hurt. However, Morgana shot out of the bathroom ahead of her and jumped up onto the bed where Hecate was about to get back in, all four paws planted determinedly, and giving her an insistent, mournful meow.</p>
<p>Hecate caved. She opened a fresh tin of Familiar Feast and filled Morgana’s bowl—and suddenly Morgana was all charms, winding her soft body between Hecate’s ankles and curling her tail around her leg.</p>
<p>Finding that she could not now return to any kind of restful position, Hecate set about the rest of her morning ablutions before making herself a pot of tea to power her through a write-up of her experiments.</p>
<p>Later that morning when it was finally time that the shops would be open, for it was the weekend and she was in need of food, Hecate’s slightly bleary eyes widened with delight to find that there was an envelope in her pigeon hole, for it had been a couple of days since she had heard from Ada and she had been fraught with worry that she had said all the wrong things in her last letter—but as she picked it up in her gloved hand, she paused at the handwriting in green ink upon the front. It was not Ada’s. In fact—it was not a hand she recognised at all. She opened it in the corridor to see who it was from and if it was something she could resolve.</p>
<p>
  <i>Hecate,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I am delighted to announce that your commission has been finished! Please visit me in my shop at your earliest convenience for a viewing. I will open at 10—perhaps you would like to visit at lunch? If you are happy with my work, I can help you to package and send it.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Héloïse Tournesol</i>
</p>
<p>Hecate smiled and put a hand to her heart. She was so relieved that Ada’s gift was finally finished, and was certain that she would be satisfied with whatever Héloïse had created, judging by her other work.</p>
<p>Hecate made her way to the Carrefour and selected her produce with barely restrained delight. She gave a smile and even exchanged some pleasant words about the weather with the cashier.</p>
<p>It took everything Hecate had not to march straight over to Héloïse’s shop at the striking of ten o’clock, which still felt like it ought to be eleven—but she had to return her shopping to the flat. She would have done this by magic, but was worried lest she be seen.</p>
<p>Upon arriving back at the flat, Hecate found that there was something else for her in the post—she could already tell Ada’s handwriting even from a distance away, and she shifted the bags in her right hand to collect it as she passed.</p>
<p>Hecate waved a hand to put her shopping away quickly—everything levitated a little haphazardly in Hecate’s overeagerness, bumping into each other in mid-air—before settling down at her writing desk to slice open the envelope.</p>
<p>Hecate felt herself immediately absorbed into Ada’s handwriting—<i>Thank you so much for your kind words. I hardly know what to say – only that that is one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. And you have quite bolstered my confidence. I am still nervous, but buoyed by such kind words as yours…well I can’t think what I might have done to deserve someone like you.</i></p>
<p>She realised she had stopped breathing—and took a few moments to catch her breath. <i>Ada</i>—she deserved the world—and someone much better than her who could tell her things that would continue to bolster her confidence.</p>
<p>Ada was still worried about Marthe’s arrival, and Hecate could not blame her. Hecate did not know what Marthe had been like as a young witch, but she certainly was quite the personality now, and it must be quite a lot of pressure to have to entertain her. Ada said she was worried about sleeping tonight—Hecate would have offered to make her a sleeping elixir, if she had been there.</p>
<p>Hecate was elated to see that Ada was still signing off with <i>Yours, Ada</i>. Perhaps it was not unintentional.</p>
<hr/>
<p>After barely recovering from the letter, Hecate found herself almost flying towards Mlle Tournesol’s shop. The street fell away behind her as her footsteps bore her forward, past the meandering Ordinaries and weekend tourists. The rush of entering the portal mingled with her nerves, and she spurred onward to her destination.</p>
<p>The shop was empty but for a young witch with dark skin and ribbons woven into her hair, sitting at the desk and writing in a ledger. Hecate asked her in halting French if Mlle Tournesol was here, and the young witch called back through the curtains of the doorway behind her to summon Héloïse.</p>
<p>“Hecate—a pleasure to see you!” Héloïse greeted her as soon as she saw who had arrived.</p>
<p>Hecate nodded, mute with excitement.</p>
<p>“Please, follow me through here to my workshop.” Héloïse beckoned, and Hecate clutched her handbag tightly as she stepped behind the desk and in through the curtained doorway.</p>
<p>Héloïse’s workshop was a marvel to behold, for it was so clean, and hardly resembled a workshop at all. It looked like a rather nice drawing room, except for a large desk with many tiny drawers upon it, and a bright lamp bent over the surface.</p>
<p>There were two armchairs by a low table that Hecate suspected was one of Héloïse’s pieces—for it had her characteristic natural style, with animals carved under the overhanging top surface, peering out with curious expressions. Upon the table was something covered in a fine cloth embroidered with a complex floral design.</p>
<p>“This is where I do all the clockwork—it’s important to keep it separate from the woodworking. It is not quite as cosy in there. If you like, you can take a peek in.”</p>
<p>Hecate politely looked in through the door Héloïse indicated. It was still very well-organised—with tools in size order on the wall, and clean countertops with measurements marked upon them. It seemed quite dusty underfoot, which was to be expected, Hecate supposed.</p>
<p>“But I prefer to do my consultations in here, since it is more comfortable.”</p>
<p>Hecate returned, and took a seat in one of the armchairs that Héloïse waved a hand towards, with her stomach churning.</p>
<p>“I very much hope that it is to your standard,” Héloïse said, drawing the cloth from the object underneath.</p>
<p>The mantel-clock was more beautiful than Hecate could have imagined. It had an ornately classical shape—domed on the top, with ledges either side, upon which sat a pair of owls that looked so lifelike that Hecate wondered if they might take flight at any moment. The clock face was gold, detailed with fine linework that glinted in the warm light behind the glass, and numerals, and the rich mahogany wood finish gave it a distinguished look. The traditional boxy shape was softened with miniature threads of ivy twisting up around the sides, with leaves smaller than a fingertip—yet Hecate could see that they even had minute veins and depth to them. Such love had gone into it, that Hecate found she did not care a broomstick twig that it was late.</p>
<p>“Ada will adore it,” Hecate breathed, still captivated by the level of detail.</p>
<p>“You have timed your visit perfectly, for the hour is about to strike,” Héloïse said, glowing with pride. “Watch.”</p>
<p>A minute later, a chime began to sound from within—and a hole appeared at the six o’clock position. A carved wooden cat sprang out, and chased around the clock face twelve times, its wooden legs moving as if they were real. Hecate could have cried with joy. </p>
<p>“Is there anything you would like to change?” Héloïse asked, a little nervously.</p>
<p>“No—nothing could be more perfect than this,” whispered Hecate.</p>
<p>Héloïse packed it into a wooden box that had clearly been made for it—lined with crumpled brown paper and protective spells for the journey, and allowed Hecate to choose gift wrapping paper from those she had available. There was a silver and blue patterned paper that reminded Hecate of Ada’s eyes—and Héloïse neatly folded the box within the paper, tying it with ribbons and fine silvery fabric. An additional layer of protective spells later, and the entire thing went into yet another box of heavy reinforced cardboard with large corner protectors around the inner box to keep it from being damaged.</p>
<p>“May I write a note to accompany it?” Hecate asked, before Héloïse sealed the top.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Héloïse responded.</p>
<p>Hecate drew some writing paper and ink and a pen from her handbag. <i>Dear Ada</i>. She excused the lateness of the gift and expressed her hopes that it found her undamaged, and that she was in good health. She wished her a happy birthday, and hoped that the Halloween celebration and Mlle Théière’s visit was a success.</p>
<p>Hecate thought back to Ada’s letter. <i>I can’t think what I might have done to deserve someone like you.</i> Those words—in Ada’s hand. She felt herself rise in her seat with elation.</p>
<p><i>With warmest affections</i>, she wrote, and signed her name with a flourish.</p>
<p>Héloïse eyed her watchfully. “She means a lot to you,” she broke the silence.</p>
<p>Hecate instinctively covered the note with her hand, and cleared her throat, evading an answer.</p>
<p>“I know, because this is how I was before Nina and I started dating,” Héloïse murmured, her gaze now distant, as if lost in a memory.</p>
<p>“I suppose I have not been subtle.” Hecate sighed. “Yes, Ada means—everything to me.” Her voice cracked to admit it out loud. She uncupped her hand from the words on the note. “But how can I tell her? I work with her.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes love isn’t as complicated as we work it up to be,” Héloïse said, putting a hand on Hecate’s shoulder. Hecate did not shrink away. The contact felt kindly, not intrusive. </p>
<p>Héloïse took her to the magical postal service she usually used, levitating the box in front of them as they walked. Because of the inner magical workings of the clock, Héloïse advised against a transference spell. A broom-mail courier to Britain was relatively inexpensive and reliable, even though it could take a few days.</p>
<p>Hecate stood by nervously as the precious cargo was handed over to the wizard behind the desk, and chewed her lip as Héloïse negotiated the fastest delivery possible. She was glad that Héloïse was there to do this for her, since she doubted in her ability to be as personable at that moment.</p>
<p>“Would you like to go out for some lunch?” Héloïse asked her.</p>
<p>Hecate found herself without excuse or want for one—she was still spinning with excitement for Ada to receive her gift, as well as amazed at herself for entrusting Héloïse with the knowledge of her affections for Ada.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Over the following days, Hecate busied herself with work to keep her worry for the safety of the parcel she had sent. The official trials of her initial potion were back, and it looked as though it had worked in all cases—and in the meantime, she still had to work on the duration of the effect.</p>
<p>Hecate wondered if she should wait to send a letter until Ada had received the parcel—or whether she should send a letter assuring her of its delivery. Yet she suspected that Marthe Théière was arriving or had already arrived—and that Ada would be busy preparing or entertaining her.</p>
<p>In the end, she realised that any letter would arrive instantaneously and certainly find Ada before the broom-mail courier did. If Ada was too busy to respond because of Marthe’s presence—it was only polite for a good host to prioritise a guest over a letter, and Ada was a good host.</p>
<p>Hecate asked her to inform her of the safe arrival of the gift, since she was told that it would be delivered on or by Halloween at the very latest. She could hardly wait for Ada to fall in love with it—and she desperately hoped it was to her taste, with a sudden and irrational worry that it was not, before she came to her senses once more.</p>
<p>She told Ada of the plans she had with Nina during the day—for the majority of the arrondissement de la sorcellerie would be closed on account of Halloween, including, to Hecate’s mild disappointment, the Académie des botanistes. Yet, she was actually quite looking forward to it—even though she had much preferred the idea of writing dedicatory chants at home. Nina had wanted to see her—for of course, Hecate and Héloïse were to spend the evening at the Halloween event while Nina did goodness knew what.</p>
<p>Hecate was still growing accustomed to the concept of people wanting to spend time with her—and even though this was hardly the first time, she was still touched that Nina was inviting her out at all.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Halloween was rather a personal affair for Hecate, and she was relieved that she had a few hours in the morning to herself before all of the plans later.</p>
<p>She arranged an altar—placing upon it a portrait of her mother, along with an apple for the last harvest, a candle for remembrance, and even though the only herbs she had were dried, she placed a bowl with a combination of calendula for her honouring her ancestors, lemon balm and passionflower for tranquillity, and peppermint for healing. She took a spoon of it for a tea spell, and mulled over her thoughts in the soothing aroma.</p>
<p>It had been quite some time since she had had the chance to brew a potion at home specifically for herself—not out of necessity because of a headache or any other ailment—and she decided that she would peruse the potions that she had in her mother’s old personal spellbooks that contained generations of Hardbroom witches’ recipes collected together. Today, when the veil between the living and the dead was thinnest, she would create a potion inspired by her connection to her ancestral roots.</p>
<p>Morgana leapt up onto the kitchen counter as she worked—putting her paw on ingredients and jars. Hecate took each of these and added them to her cauldron, sipping her tea and looking deep into the steam rise from her cauldron, hoping to see a sign from the other side in the wisps curling into nothingness.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate regarded herself in the mirror. She was wearing an ankle-length skirt and a blouse with beading down the front—she had to look appropriate enough to attend the organ concert that afternoon with Nina—not that she did not usually look appropriate. She simply wanted to ensure that what she was wearing suited the occasion. Her pointed hat and ceremonial robes went into her handbag, folded neatly, since she would not had the chance to return to her flat between the concert and travelling to meet Héloïse’s coven, since the three of them would be having dinner together.</p>
<p>Hecate finally shrugged her heavy overcoat on, arranging the capelet around her shoulders to fall properly. It was not a particularly cold day, but there was a dampness to the air that made it feel so. It was only a few weeks ago when it had been swelteringly hot, and now it was almost cool enough to see one’s breath in the air. Hecate took a scarf in addition to her gloves and usual top hat, for the season was changing so quickly and she needed the warmth.</p>
<p>She met Nina just outside the entrance to the witching district nearest to her—for Nina had said that it was a perfectly pleasant day to walk, and it was allegedly not strictly far enough from them to warrant taking one of the magical portals.</p>
<p>They crossed the Seine by the cobblestoned Pont Neuf. The sky was cloudless, and reflected quite beautifully on the river. Hecate was still taken aback every time a car passed too fast, even though she was safely on the pavement, with Nina between her and the road. </p>
<p>“Where is Héloïse today?” Hecate asked, as they passed a statue on the bridge of a man on a rather regal-looking horse. Hecate wondered vaguely who he was, but the accomplishments of Ordinaries interested her very little.</p>
<p>“At her shop—on Halloween, I know. She works so hard, but she loves it—and I love her, so how can I stop her?”</p>
<p>“Even I spent the morning in solemn reflection rather than research.”</p>
<p>“Oh Hecate—you’re practically a slob now,” Nina teased her, and Hecate rolled her eyes. She was quite used to Nina’s jokes now. </p>
<p>Once they reached the South bank of the Seine, they walked along beside the bouquinistes, Hecate trusting Nina to know where she was heading. Their destination was the Jardin du Luxembourg, but Hecate was completely lost as to which direction they were meant to be going and how far away it was.</p>
<p>They turned onto the boulevard Saint-Michel, which was lined with trees that had all lost their leaves—but that Hecate imagined would be rather pretty in warmer weather. It was quite pleasant—Nina had been correct—and Nina pointed out the crumbling ruins of the Thermes de Cluny, which were, according to Nina, the remains of a 3rd century Roman bathhouse. Hecate admired it with some interest—although she had seen much more impressive and older preserved buildings from ancient times, it was quite something to see it in the midst of modern-day Paris just across the street from a Starbucks, which she had learnt was a chain store that sold very bad coffee—as Nina attested.</p>
<p>They crossed the street by a roundabout, at which point Hecate was relieved to see the tall iron fence surrounding the Jardin du Luxembourg, and felt her shoulders relax as she stepped into the shadows of the trees and grass rather than buildings and cars—although to be immediately confronted by a statue of what she realised was a naked man put an expression of distaste upon her face that caused Nina some degree of hilarity.</p>
<p>They rounded the back of an imposing building that Nina told her was the Sénat building, also known as the Palais du Luxembourg. A clock face at the rear entrance was surrounded by statues—and as Hecate looked up, she saw that the sky had begun to cloud over. She felt that it might well rain soon.</p>
<p>They spent a short while admiring the gardens, following the paths, before the first raindrop fell as a cool drop on Hecate’s nose.</p>
<p>Hecate did not mind the rain, but Nina put up her large umbrella abruptly—which she miraculously—or perhaps magically—produced from an inner pocket of her coat. Nina made her huddle underneath and link arms with her—for it might be some time before they could find an opportunity to cast a discreet drying spell.</p>
<p>“I promise this is much lovelier in the spring,” Nina said, shivering slightly against the rain as they walked on.</p>
<p>“It is quite lovely now,” Hecate responded, her voice even and frank. “There is much beauty to be seen in nature when it is raining.”</p>
<p>Hecate felt Nina’s shoulder shift against hers as she shrugged. “I prefer not to be cold and damp.”</p>
<p>“It is quite cold.” Hecate thought how she would rather it be Ada’s arm she was clinging to as she shared Nina’s warmth. Ada would have loved to have seen the raindrops falling softly to the earth, dripping from the last leaves clinging to the trees, and seeing the plants well-watered. “Perhaps we should find somewhere to get a hot drink before the concert,” Hecate suggested.</p>
<p>They took one last loop around to see some of the statues, before heading north beside the Palais du Luxembourg. Hecate was alarmed when she saw the armed guards at the front entrance—it unsettled her to see Ordinary weapons out in the open and worried what they would do if they knew that she and Nina were witches.</p>
<p>Nina found a pleasant café with available seating inside—for the rain had driven everyone indoors—near the Église Saint-Sulpice where the organ recital would be. They ordered a hot drink and—at Nina’s insistence—a pastry each. Nina declared the coffee “not bad” and her expression perked up considerably after the caffeine. She spoke of the Halloween party she would be attending that evening. Hecate tried not to let her judgment show—in all honesty she was surprised that such a seemingly sensible, conscientious witch as Nina would be interested in such wild activities on one of the most sacred days of the witching calendar.</p>
<p>It was still drizzling when they left for the concert—but it was so close that the umbrella was not necessary. They passed a flower market on the way that lightened Hecate’s mood with its aroma and spectrum of colours.</p>
<p>The Église Saint-Sulpice was a beautiful sight to behold from the outside, with its columns and towers and the spectacular fountain with great snarling lions—but inside was truly magnificent. They were permitted to walk around before the concert—many people were already wandering about or sitting already, but Hecate was intrigued—it was not often that she was in Ordinary places of worship and she had to marvel at its splendour.</p>
<p>To call it merely a church was to undersell the enormity of it—Hecate felt very small next to the towering archways and underneath the high vaulted ceiling, elaborate stained glass windows, great artworks, and statues. The altar was very grand indeed, on a stepped plinth with numerous gold candlesticks, and a black and white marble patterned floor radiating out from it—Hecate could only guess at the cost of such opulence. The church also contained a gnomon—an astronomical tool to deduce the position of the Sun—and the obelisk was a highly impressive instrument. The Latin inscription at its base read <i>Ad Certam Paschalis Æquinoctii Explorationem</i>, which Hecate translated as “to determine precisely the Paschal Equinox”. </p>
<p>The organ itself was quite remarkable—Hecate had never seen one quite like it, covered all over with carved figures. From what she could see, high up behind where the seats were laid out, there was a clock face amidst the pipes surrounded by wooden figures.</p>
<p>“That seems similar to Héloïse’s work,” Hecate whispered to Nina, nodding towards the clock. Although there was no particular indication that they should be quiet, Hecate felt the urge not to speak at volume—perhaps out of reverence for the building.</p>
<p>“Designed by Chalgrin, who was also responsible for the Arc de Triomphe. One of Héloïse’s early influences was neoclassical art,” Nina responded in a similar undertone. “She was very inspired by the architecture in Paris. Her first pieces were more in that style.”</p>
<p>“But her work now is far more exquisite—it has so much life in it.”</p>
<p>“She would blush to hear you think so.”</p>
<p>From the desk of the volunteer group who arranged these concerts, Hecate bought a programme and a previous recording that she would be sending on to Gwen, whom she expected would find from it a great deal of enjoyment.</p>
<p>The programme included an overview of the Grand Organ—a true work of art made in 1862 by Aristide Cavaillé-Coll, a famous organ builder, who rebuilt the original organ made by François-Henri Clicquot in 1781. Apparently it had 102 stops—enough to mimic an entire orchestra—and five keyboards, along with the foot pedals. One clearly had to be a virtuoso to play such an instrument, Hecate thought. On further reading, in fact, she learnt that it took several people to operate such an incredible work of musical artistry—pulling or pushing in the stops to change the sound. There were several other organs in Paris by Cavaillé-Coll, but the one held in Saint-Sulpice was the least altered and as such, was in its purest state.</p>
<p>When Nina had initially invited her to the organ concert, she had not been entirely sure what to expect—and “assistant organist” had not sounded altogether very impressive until she realised that there were very few people permitted to play such an instrument. She looked at the picture in the programme of the assistant organist, who had had such a title since 1985. Hecate was rather eager for the concert to begin by the time they found a seat, and poured over the programme.</p>
<p>The sound of the first notes reverberating throughout the church filled her with awe—the programme opened with a lively and dramatic piece that exceeded her every expectation by the sheer magnitude of the sound. Hecate had always found the sound of an organ to be a marvellous thing when played by the right person—and this was certainly the right person.</p>
<p>Hecate tried to ignore the person two rows in front of her knitting what seemed like a very colourful blanket, for it was voluminous in size and in the most horrendous pastels. Every time the person came to the end of a row, they would have to turn the entire thing around, and it waved about like a giant sail in front of them as they arranged the folds of it in the right position. It was highly distracting, and even when Hecate closed her eyes, she could still imagine the offensive colours.</p>
<p>After the first piece, Nina leaned over to Hecate and pointed out someone in the audience—who turned out to be Mme Beauchêne, the librarian from the Bibliothèque de botanique. Hecate was not surprised to see members of the magical community here, particularly when the entertainment was of such quality.</p>
<p>Hecate managed to ignore the irritating knitter after a while, giving into the stirring music and enjoying the acoustics of the church. Despite the music being non-magical pieces with which she was unfamiliar, Hecate found it quite to her liking. The organist went onto play a slower, emotional composition that allowed her a meditative moment where she thought ahead to the evening later, anticipating meeting Héloïse’s coven.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Nina accompanied Hecate to the witching district, where they met with Héloïse for a light dinner. Héloïse’s hair was not plaited today, but unbound and flowed about her in golden curls. She had brought with her a spare broomstick for Hecate, since they would be flying directly there to arrive in plenty of time. Hecate magically changed into her ceremonial robes, cloak, and hat in the bathroom of the café, and let down the full length of her flowing hair, smoothing it with a spell—feeling much more like it was Halloween at last. Nina and Héloïse, who had never seen Hecate without her hair restrained in her tight bun, were astonished at the beauty of her hair. Hecate, who had not considered that this might an outcome of having her hair down—since most in her acquaintance would not dare to make a comment of that type—was taken aback and brushed off their compliments.</p>
<p>After an amorous goodbye between Nina and Héloïse, they mounted their broomsticks and left Nina to find her party. The sun had already set long before they took off down the street—it had been a while since Hecate had been on a broomstick, and it was wonderful to feel the wind caressing through her hair as she followed on behind Héloïse.</p>
<p>It was a reasonably long flight to the outskirts of Paris—luckily the witching district extended far enough that their flight was covered until they were almost there. They had to pause before exiting through a portal door to cast concealment charms so that they would not arouse suspicions about being dressed as they were, and bearing broomsticks. Of all the nights to be dressed as a witch, however—Hecate supposed begrudgingly that Halloween was the least suspicious occasion.</p>
<p>They continued their flight to small hill just outside of Paris—and as they neared, Hecate could see a gathering of dark-robed witches that she suspected was only visible to her on account of her powers. Hecate and Héloïse swooped down to touchdown near the encampment.</p>
<p>They exchanged polite greetings as Héloïse introduced her to the leader of her coven. Hecate felt quite nervous—even though they seemed pleasant enough individuals—for it was rather intimidating meeting an entirely new group of people on such a hallowed day. She was offered some mulled wine, which she took gratefully, to ease her nerves and to warm her hands on the cup.</p>
<p>At the centre of a circle of unlit fires was a makeshift altar—a large stone covered with a velvet cloth—where all who wished could add something as part of the observance. Héloïse set down a picture and an autumnal-coloured shawl, and lit a candle. Hecate, who had not brought anything, merely added another tongue of flame to the many that already shone brightly there. It felt comforting as she watched her candle among the others—and like she mattered—and had brought something positive to the gathering, even though she was only a visitor.</p>
<p>The skies were clear now—Hecate suspected some crafty intervention may have helped to achieve this—and the temperature was dropping quite rapidly. The spices of the mulled wine helped to fend off the chill, as did the friendly company. Héloïse helped to include her in conversations, which was kind of her—and Hecate felt more at ease as she was assured of their openness to her. Hecate noted too that many of them were couples, and rather like Héloïse in character—quiet, observant, yet passionate—and Hecate began to wonder if this would be the type of coven she would join if she had a formal one in Britain.</p>
<p>When the time was right, and all who had added to the altar had done so, and had taken their share of mulled wine—they were each given a branch, upon which they cast a fire spell to ignite them. Then, they gathered in a circle, bearing their torches around the five unlit piles of wood sprinkled with herbs, in the arrangement of a pentacle. Wordlessly, one by one they stepped forward, and lowered the flaming branches to the ceremonial fires, catching the kindling at the heart of each. The smell of burning herbs filled the air, as Hecate felt the veil grow thinner, and she felt her connection to her magic grow stronger. </p>
<p>The assembled witches all stood while the ceremonial fires leapt up to lap over the bundles of wood, in mutual silence and understanding for the solemnity of the occasion, each remembering those they had lost. Héloïse’s bright golden hair next to her, stark against her black robe, glowed in the warmth of the fire as they exchanged a glance. For Hecate, it was strangely comforting to be able to have such a private moment shared among like-minded witches, and a feeling it was rare for her to have at Halloween at Cackle’s. For once, she did not have to worry about keeping students in line, and was free to give herself over to the moment.</p>
<p>The recitation began with the head of the coven, at the apex of the circle, as a waning gibbous moon ascended into the firmament over them. The tongues of flame flickered into the sky, dancing with floating embers and crackling under the sound of their voices. Hecate quavered slightly as she stood, the heat of the nearest fire upon her face, anticipating her turn and worrying that she would ruin the atmosphere with her inadequate reading.</p>
<p>Hecate had been practising the recitation of the story from the book that Nina had given to her, but she still stumbled over her words. Héloïse next to her gently prompted her when she lost her train of thought in her mental image of the story when it came to her turn, but aside from that and a mispronunciation, it did not go too badly. Perhaps she should have taken a sip of her eidetic memory potion before coming—and yet she knew that would not have been in the spirit of the occasion.</p>
<p>The story was taken up by the next witch—and Hecate found her nerves giving way to a sense of peace as she listened to the words of the story rather than her inner thoughts while waiting for her cue. It was a rather enlightening experience hearing the old tale in a new language—the cadences fell differently and allowed her to hear something unique in the story that she had not heard before.</p>
<p>As the last line of the story was spoken, each witch lifted their head to gaze into the fire—to remember the dead and honour those they had found, together in the light and warmth of the soft sparking of the fires before them. Hecate felt the briefest of tears in her eyes as she remembered her own mother and the legacy that she had left Hecate—of her magic, and the magic of generations of witches.</p>
<p>At last, they joined together to declaim the central tenets of the Witches’ Code—Hecate adding her voice to the many. It felt affirming to speak as one—even though the language was not familiar, the sentiment of being proud to follow the Witches’ Code was very close to Hecate’s heart.</p>
<p>The head of the coven summoned a ceremonial bowl of water to her hands, and dousing her hand in the blessed water, flicked it at the nearest fire to extinguish it. The water was symbolic—to reunite the elements of fire, water, air, earth, and magic—to restore the balance to the land they had borrowed. One by one, the fires died away as the spell hit them, until the only light was that of the moon over them.</p>
<p>The ritual was over—and the braziers around re-lit to restore some light. Thankfully, everyone present seemed to have Héloïse’s sense of grace and patience—for they congratulated her afterwards on her clear speech and pronunciation (which Hecate thought was overly generous of them). </p>
<p>“Thank you for coming with me,” Héloïse said to Hecate as they went over to the altar to collect her personal items. “I really appreciated the company, and your contributions were very welcome.”</p>
<p>“I only hope I did not intrude upon anything.”</p>
<p>“Nonsense—we are a very open coven, and having a guest only makes the night more special.”</p>
<p>When Hecate finally returned to her flat, she was exhausted, but happy after the events of the evening and all the lovely witches she had met. She only hoped that Ada had had as pleasant a Halloween, and let her final thoughts of the day rest upon Ada’s beautiful smile—the one she longed to see on her return to Britain in a few months’ time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Novembre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>November began, and with it brought a new sense of calm to Hecate. Perhaps it had been the result of the wonderful Halloween she had spent, which for once had felt like a holiday—or perhaps it was the receipt of Ada’s letter thanking her profusely for the mantel-clock.</p>
<p>Hecate was presently sat with Héloïse and Nina one lunchtime, when she had finally taken Nina up on her offer to take lunch with them on a working day.</p>
<p>“She adores it,” Hecate told Héloïse, who beamed as she dipped a spoon into her soup. “Her familiar, Pendle, is apparently delighted by the cat who appears on the hour.”</p>
<p>“That was one of my favourite parts,” Nina added. “As partner, I of course had certain privileges of seeing the project as it was being worked upon.”</p>
<p>Héloïse kissed her gently in the hollow of her cheek. “She even makes suggestions—and that was a very good one of hers. That’s why it was her favourite.”</p>
<p>Hecate smiled fondly at them. They really were a remarkable couple—and so in love that sometimes it gave her pangs of her own for Ada. Ada had continued to end her letters with <i>Yours, Ada</i>—and yet she was still just as uncertain whether there was anything more behind it.</p>
<p>“She loves the owls as well,” Hecate said, and putting her hand on her bag where the letter was kept, affectionately. “She says they are so lifelike that she expects them to take flight.”</p>
<p>In that letter, Ada had told her all about the Halloween they had had at Cackle’s—which Hecate frankly had been glad to have missed. Her recounting of it contained some hints at how it had gone—<i>It was indeed a little chaotic with twice the usual number of students</i> meant that it was far too crowded and impossible to control such a number—and <i>we had very few students get out of hand</i>, which meant that some definitely did. Hecate was eased by the news that <i>The few trouble-makers were caught quickly and have received punishments fitting to their actions</i>, and had some surprise over the fact that Dimity seemed to have taken on a more responsibly-minded position in her absence, having had <i>a talk with our girls about appropriate behaviour</i>.</p>
<p>The marshmallow scheme seemed to have gone exactly as she had suspected—<i>we are finding sticky residue all over the school</i>—but was glad that Ada was turning this into a teaching point and having the girls clean the abominable mess themselves. She dreaded, however, the influence of “Punky Night Redux” and suspected that upon her return she would no doubt hear renditions of it in the corridors.</p>
<p>Hecate had been pleased that Ada seemed to believe that they would not be replacing the traditional Halloween observance with this party next year. She wondered if Ada would be open to including something like the ritual that Hecate had attended with Héloïse’s coven—perhaps even to invite some witches from other cultures every other year, to allow the girls to experience something different from the usual. </p>
<p>Hecate had almost entirely forgotten that Marthe would have been there in the midst of all the marshmallows and post-punk ballads and Pippa Pentangle’s modern ideas. Perhaps it was a sign that she was no longer bothered or intimidated by Marthe’s visit. She wondered what Marthe would have made of Cackle’s—and of Ada. Ada had said that she had been so busy with all the preparations that they had hardly had the time to talk, but for the dinner that they were going to have—or would have already had yesterday, now.</p>
<p>Hecate had written back already—telling her all about the concert and the Halloween observance, trying not to feel upset about how Ada thought that it had been <i>so nice to catch up with her</i>. Marthe was a lovely woman, and of course she would have wanted to treat Ada to dinner, as she had done with Hecate herself. Perhaps there was nothing romantic behind it after all. Hecate had expressed that she was happy that the visit had been going so well, even though she had not expected it to be anything but pleasant.</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Hecate returned that evening, it was to a rather heavy envelope, thick with many sheets of paper. She did not know whether to be worried or what indeed to think at all—and made a pot of tea to soothe her nerves. She had of course, resolved to be supportive of Ada, no matter what happened with Marthe, and focused on that. </p>
<p>Sitting down, and pouring a cup of chamomile and peppermint for herself, Hecate sliced open the letter and began to read. Gwen had enjoyed the recording she had bought from the Église Saint-Sulpice—that was pleasing. Marthe had left and would now be in Paris—and—<i>It really was so good to see her. Such a lot of things we talked about that I had not thought about in a long time.</i>—</p>
<p>Oh. Hecate bit her lip. That was somehow less pleasing. Her bright resolutions about being supportive of Ada and positive towards her and Marthe’s reunion were starting to show cracks. <i>What a fortunate chance it was that you and she ran into each other!</i> Hecate had not remotely imagined the emotional trouble she was going to put herself through back then—less than a month ago, she was sure—and was once more torn between feeling happy that she had helped Ada find an old friend, but also—though she had tried so hard not to be—jealous.</p>
<p>Ada’s letter went charmingly on, heedless of Hecate’s turmoil, to describe in detail the delicious food they had had—and launched into an extensive story about an elderly witch couple on the next table, with whom of <i>course</i> Ada and Marthe started speaking, because that was exactly the kind of people they both were.</p>
<p>Hecate could picture it—the two couples delighted to find how one was celebrating their sixty-first anniversary and the other was reuniting after—not quite as many years—but renewing a long-lost love affair. She felt a cold shiver go through her as tears of regret began to well up in her eyes.</p>
<p>Yet, her bitterness melted to read of the story Ada related in great detail about how one of the elderly witches, Amaryllis proposed to the other, Janet—a note Janet did not receive for days after she had been carrying it around in her pocket—it was just the sort of story Ada would love. Reading as her writing grew steadily more and more gentle, and the curves fuller—Hecate softened, and wondered if she would ever be in that position—though she doubted it very much.</p>
<p>
  <i>Perhaps you’ll say I am a hopeless romantic, but those kinds of stories always warm my heart, especially when told so many years after the fact by a couple that still have such obvious affection for and comfort with one another. And perhaps I’ve become a bit sentimental, after the past several days.</i>
</p>
<p>The tears brimmed over her eyelids, and tickled down her face. <i>Ada</i>, she thought, <i>Why must you have such a precious, dear heart?</i> Hecate only wished Ada knew how she admired her for being a romantic. It took great strength to allow oneself to be moved by love.</p>
<p>Hecate put her fingers on the page—where Ada’s would have been—<i>perhaps I will take a stroll around the grounds while it is still light out, and see if I can shake off this wistfulness before it becomes melancholy.</i> She paused at that last word—<i>melancholy</i>. Was she feeling that way because Marthe had left, or because she did not have the romance that she was describing? It was impossible to tell.</p>
<p><i>Yours, Ada</i>. Oh—if only.</p>
<hr/>
<p>After a night of dreams that she wished she could erase from her memory, Hecate decided that it was beyond the reasonable amount of time that she could further delay finding the <i>Magical Curiosities</i> article that Ada had recommended to her. She had even been in the Bibliothèque nationale de magie the other day and not ordered it from the catalogue—it was quite disgraceful, really. Going back through her treasured packet of letters from Ada, she realised that Ada had first mentioned it in her letter on 2nd October. It was now 4th November—and she could really put it off no longer.</p>
<p>The morning was particularly cold, and with a heavy fog that blotted out all sense of sky over her. Hecate could hardly see the grocer with his apples until she was almost upon him. She bought a Pink Lady, with a comment about the <i>brouillard</i> before proceeding towards the witching district.</p>
<p>The Bibliothèque nationale de magie was not far from the Académie des botanistes, in a grandiose building that made the National Library of Magic in Britain look disappointing. She slipped in through the vast doors—dark walnut trimmed with gold—after a young wizard tripped out of them, apologising to her and seeming quite intimidated by her top hat.</p>
<p>From the main desk in the heptagonal entrance hall, Hecate ordered the list of volumes she needed—including last month’s issue of <i>Magical Curiosities</i>—and was told the wait would be around thirty minutes to locate all the texts in the repository. She nodded curtly and headed towards the café for a cup of tea while she waited, and started upon her response to Ada.</p>
<p><i>Dear Ada</i>, she wrote in a flowing hand. It was peculiar how simply writing those words felt like coming home—like the sense of sitting by the hearth after a long term of teaching—the feeling of taking off one’s boots and putting on one’s slippers. Relaxing as they were, however—Hecate hardly knew where to begin with Ada’s last letter.</p>
<p>Her pen hovered over the page as she became lost in thought. The story she had devoted pages to of the elderly couple—Hecate wanted Ada to know that she had impressed upon her something of worth—that her very dreams last night had betrayed her and put her in the place of Janet—who had found in her pocket the illustrated card of proposal that her Amaryllis—her <i>Ada</i>—had left there for her. Yet she could hardly confess to such a fanciful dream. </p>
<p>If either of them was the “hopeless” romantic, it was Hecate—for she had not a glimmer of hope that she would ever find romance—whereas Ada was made for love and showed it with such freedom. <i>You are a bit of a romantic, but that is not a bad thing, in your case. It is one of your endearing qualities.</i> Hecate dared not continue any further with that line of thought. </p>
<p>Hecate knew she ought to show that she was happy for Ada. From the letter, aside from the puzzling “melancholy”, she understood that Ada had meant to articulate her intention to take things further with Marthe. She had better start accepting that.</p>
<p>
  <i>I did not expect, when I came here to Paris, that I would figure in the role of re-uniter between you and Mlle Théière. But I can tell that reconnecting with her has brought you much joy, and therefore I am glad to have been able to do this for you. You deserve every happiness, Ada.</i>
</p>
<p>It was with a stinging of bittersweetness that she wrote this, as though with every word she was handing Ada over into Marthe’s arms. There was nothing to be done, however—if Ada preferred Marthe, then Hecate would try to be happy for her.</p>
<p>Hecate checked her pocket watch, and saw that it was time to collect the books she had ordered. She would finish the letter later, and update Ada on her thoughts on the article. Nothing more needed to be said—if she said anything else, she felt sure it would be entirely too obvious where her heart lay.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate started the following morning by cleaning everything stringently, and doing every last piece of laundry she could find. It was dark outside, and would be for some time yet—even as she walked the length of the rue Saint-Honoré, head bowed. She passed on the other side of the street to avoid the grocer she had befriended, and pretended not to hear his affable “Bonjour, madame”. She had no appetite for Pink Ladies today.</p>
<p>Hecate hardly said three words to Nina before lunch—by which point she had done more work than she had in the past two days—tabling five sets of data from each of the ingredients she had researched that would affect the duration of the potion. Héloïse stopped by at the greenhouse to go with Nina to lunch, but when they asked Hecate, she said she was “too busy” and headed off to one of the soundproof rooms dedicated to spell chanting to close herself away from the background noise. It was comforting to know that she could lock the door and not have to worry about people walking freely in and out.</p>
<p>When Hecate finally summoned the strength to go back to the laboratory, Nina had not yet returned. She busied herself with some written work, since it was quiet—and when the quiet was disturbed by the presence of others, she excused herself to go to one of the small reading rooms in the archive. Mlle Papillon was too occupied to notice her.</p>
<p>The afternoon passed mercifully quickly into evening—and Hecate returned briefly to the laboratory to tidy away her notes before she headed off back to her flat. Héloïse was there again—she had brought something from the boulangerie. Hecate was so hungry she could smell it from across the room. It was like a memory of something from her childhood—but she drew on her coat and hat and gloves, and left swiftly before either Nina or Héloïse could catch her eye.</p>
<p>Hecate swept in from the darkness of outside to see a letter from Ada in her pigeon hole. She took it, not feeling her usual sense of thrill—and set it on the writing desk for after she had had some dinner. </p>
<p>Hecate put together some bread and cheese for herself, and heated her teapot. She looked at Ada’s letter on the writing desk from across the room, feeling heavy—the food tasted dry in her mouth, but she was hungry enough that it did not matter.</p>
<p>Hecate had delayed long enough now—and slit open the envelope with her letter opener.</p>
<p>Ada informed her that Dr. Zvyezda’s was planning a future academic paper based on the initial article in <i>Magical Curiosities</i>. It was a fascinating subject, certainly—but not in her particular field of interest.</p>
<p>Hecate drifted onto the next paragraph—although she almost wished she had not, for it concerned Marthe. <i>I do thank you for bringing Marthe back into my life. It has indeed brought me a great deal of pleasure to be reconnected with her.</i> She had also written, <i>I hope you know too that you yourself are very much a part of my happiness, my dear</i>—and Hecate wanted to find comfort in that last line, but found that she could not read it as anything but a consolation.</p>
<p><i>I am certain Marthe would be happy to see you again, if your schedule permits.</i> Marthe was a lovely witch, but one whom Hecate had not the slightest interest in seeing. It would do her no good to hang on her every word for some second-hand glimpse of Ada—moreover, it would be false to pretend to be after Marthe’s company when it was Ada she truly wished to see.</p>
<p>For the first time in many letters, Ada ended with <i>Affectionately</i>. The message was clear—if Ada had been hers, or if there had been any chance that Ada may have been hers—it was gone now.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next day, Nina was not in. Hecate continued with her write-up of all the data sets she had collected yesterday—for there was yet still much to analyse and cross-reference with other witches’ research. She would have liked to have worked in the Bibliothèque de botanique, but she wanted to avoid any chance of meeting Marthe Théière if at all possible. The greenhouse was quiet, however, and no one else turned up, until well after lunch.</p>
<p>It was Héloïse who entered—her blonde hair was damp in a low ponytail, and there was fresh rain on her cloak. </p>
<p>“Nina is not in today—I am unsure where she is—but is there anything I can do for you?” Hecate asked her—finding her voice small and oddly formal.</p>
<p>“Nina is taking her shift at the Bibliothèque de botanique,” Héloïse responded. “But I brought something for you from the café.” She set a small white cardboard box on the side.</p>
<p>Hecate lifted the lid, to the aroma of warm cheese scones. Her stomach squirmed with hunger, and Hecate felt a deep well of embarrassment within her.</p>
<p>“I thought you might be hungry,” Héloïse said gently.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Hecate said, with as much dignity as she could muster. She could hardly deny it now.</p>
<p>“Can I make you some tea?”</p>
<p>“That is all right.” Hecate made as if to continue her work, feeling awkward, and hoping that Héloïse would read the situation correctly and leave her with her thoughts.</p>
<p>Héloïse nodded, and made herself scarce. Hecate’s shoulders deflated when she left—but she jumped a mile when the door swung open again—Héloïse had returned with a steaming pot of tea. Either she had misunderstood Hecate, or had chosen to deliberately ignore her.</p>
<p>“May I stay for a tea and a scone? It is raining quite hard.”</p>
<p>Hecate bristled slightly. She did not normally think food or drink belonged in a laboratory—and it was quite an imposition to have an extra person around while she worked.</p>
<p>“You may sit at Nina’s workbench. I cannot guarantee I will be any kind of good company.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Héloïse responded, and poured out a cup of tea for each of them. “But I don’t need you to be good company. I only wanted to spend time with you.” She conjured two plates as well, upon which placed a scone, and put the tea and plate near Hecate, before drawing out a stool for herself.</p>
<p>“What sort of tea is this?” Hecate asked, after somewhat begrudgingly lifting the cup to her nose.</p>
<p>“Ginger and lemon green tea,” Héloïse said, her voice brightening. “It’s good for concentration.”</p>
<p>It was very pleasant and quite refreshing. Hecate also took a nibble of the scone, since she felt it would be impolite not to.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Hecate said once again. “You really need not have gone to the trouble, but it was kind of you to think of me.”</p>
<p>Héloïse gave her a look that told Hecate that she thought it entirely necessary, and remained a quiet, calming presence as she wrote.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Héloïse continued to visit Hecate, even late—or perhaps very early, as her research had brought her to the conclusion that the night-blooming dusk sorrel could well be a candidate for a duration enhancement to her potion—but it could be handled only between the hours of 11 pm and 4 am. Mlle Papillon had given her a copy of the key to their section of the building, and permission to stay for as long as she needed. It did not give her very personable hours, but Héloïse stopped by her frequently to sit with her and bring her meals and pots of tea.</p>
<p>Hecate supposed she had to write back to Ada at some point, and sent a brief note to explain that her work was making her keep anti-social hours as an explanation for why she would not be entertaining Marthe Théière anytime soon. She included a line about Héloïse’s visits to make the letter seem a little less brusque—<i>Mlle Tournesol has taken to appearing at my lab at odd hours with savoury scones and a small pot of tea, which I will admit is less annoying than I initially thought it would be</i>. </p>
<p>She thought about Ada’s <i>Affectionately</i>—which, while it was still a fond expression, was not <i>Yours</i>. It was how Ada had signed off when they had started a regular correspondence. Hecate had been using <i>Sincerely</i> then, and it was that with which she would resume now.</p>
<p>Morgana was quite put out not to have her mistress around to snuggle up to during the nocturnal hours—Hecate had assumed an extremely strange sleeping schedule of waking up at eight o’clock at night, going into the Académie des botanistes, and working there until she was exhausted and could not longer keep her eyes open at what most people would consider lunch time, only dropping by at six in the morning to feed Morgana at her usual time and give her a quick kiss.</p>
<p>Hecate very soon found herself starved for Ada’s words—and partly regretted pushing Ada away with her last. It had been several days without word from her—yet perhaps it was for the best, since Ada now had Marthe to write to and would not have as much time for Hecate—and Hecate had better learn that she was not Ada’s primary concern.</p>
<p>“You are working yourself so hard,” Héloïse told her. It was rather early in the morning for her, and she had brought some fresh, warm pains au chocolat and made a pot of tea for the both of them. </p>
<p>Hecate checked the time on her pocket watch. “Nonsense,” she said. “I have only been here for nine hours.”</p>
<p>Héloïse shook her head, and looked at the stack of handwritten notes beside Hecate that she had written that night. Hecate sipped some tea before pressing on with comparing the dusk sorrel’s reactivity with common potion ingredients to the reactivity of other herbs.</p>
<p>“I’ve always meant to ask but didn’t want to impose—” Héloïse’s voice cut through her thoughts, and halted unexpectedly. </p>
<p>Hecate looked up, expectantly. “Go on.”</p>
<p>“Your pocket watch—may I see it?”</p>
<p>Hecate lifted her eyebrows, but passed the chain over her head and handed the pocket watch to her. Knowing Héloïse’s profession, Hecate assumed she most likely would treat it with due care.</p>
<p>Héloïse took a small magnifying lens from the pocket of her dress and held it up to her eye—which was underlined with grey from her interrupted sleep, for she had been visiting Hecate at all hours—and began examining the movement. “An heirloom?”</p>
<p>“My late mother’s,” Hecate returned impassively.</p>
<p>“Such exquisite craftsmanship. You have a real treasure here—even without the sentimental value.”</p>
<p>Hecate’s jaw hardened. She did not wish to be seen as sentimental at that moment—not when she was trying so hard not to feel that way.</p>
<p>Héloïse looked like she wanted to say something more as she handed back the pocket watch. “How is your friend, Ada?”</p>
<p>Hecate paused in her writing, and the ink began to spread out from the nib of her pen. “I do not know,” Hecate shot back, her voice edging with emotion—but suddenly found her eyes filling with tears that she had been holding back for days.</p>
<p>“Oh—Hecate—” Héloïse circled around from her usual position in Nina’s area to Hecate’s—and Hecate did not resist as she lay her hand on her shoulder. Hecate’s posture crumpled, and Héloïse folded her in a warm hug that Hecate realised she had needed for quite some time. </p>
<p>It was then, crying into Héloïse’s shoulder, that it dawned on Hecate that isolating herself from those around her was doing nothing to help the situation with Ada. She could open up—perhaps just a little—and she felt that she could trust Héloïse, who had been at her side as soon as she had noticed Hecate withdrawing from her and Nina.</p>
<p>Hecate broke away from the embrace. “I do not wish to impose upon your kindness, but—”</p>
<p>“Tell me,” came the soft response from Héloïse, “if you want to, you should say it out loud.”</p>
<p>Hecate’s lip trembled. “I truly am in love with Ada Cackle, and have been for quite some time.”</p>
<p>Hecate began to tell her everything—the entire progression of their relationship between when she had first come to Paris and now—and how the whole Marthe Théière affair came into being—and what it meant for Hecate’s feelings towards her headmistress. It was a comfort to have such an attentive listener—Héloïse had drawn up a stool beside her and held her hand as she spoke. </p>
<p>“Hecate—I had some idea of your feelings, but I didn’t know how complicated things were.”</p>
<p>Hecate smiled sorrowfully. “It does not matter now.”</p>
<p>“I think things are not as hopeless as you think they are,” Héloïse said, brushing back a stray piece of hair from Hecate’s face that had come loose from her bun. It was such a tender action that Hecate felt tears rise in her throat once more. “I feel that she will write back—and when she does, I will help you. Perhaps I will be able to better determine her tone—for I think you now are taking everything as a rejection of your feelings.”</p>
<p>Hecate nodded mutely. </p>
<p>“Let me walk you home—you have already worked enough today.” </p>
<p>Hecate watched passively as Héloïse tidied away her writing equipment for her. How low she had fallen—and yet how much less alone she felt with someone to help.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate unlocked the door to her building, and let Héloïse in—for she had said that she could take a look at some of the letters Ada had already sent to see if she could deduce whether there were any feelings on Ada’s side. Hecate was not entirely enthusiastic about the idea of sharing something so personal—but Héloïse knew nearly everything there already was to know, so she saw nothing to be lost.</p>
<p>Héloïse looked at the shining silver door to the left as they entered into the hallway. “Is that a lift?”</p>
<p>But Hecate had stopped in her tracks to see an envelope waiting for her—with Ada’s handwriting upon the front. “She has written back,” she said weakly, picking up the letter, and holding it limply in her hands.</p>
<p>Héloïse abandoned all excitement over the Ordinary lift and rushed to her side.</p>
<p>“Open it,” she urged her. At Hecate’s hesitation, she continued, “or—I understand if you would like some privacy.”</p>
<p>“It is not that— I would prefer to open it in the flat rather than out in the corridor.”</p>
<p>They took the stairs, for Hecate could not face struggling to operate the lift, even to entertain Héloïse. Hecate realised she had not yet invited anyone to her flat at all in the two months she had been living there.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I’ve ever been inside an Ordinary dwelling before,” Héloïse said, marvelling at the odd appliances within.</p>
<p>“It is quite different,” Hecate said, her heart thumping in her chest as she wondered what Ada might have written, removing her coat, hat, and gloves, and hanging them up.</p>
<p>Héloïse bent to greet a curious Morgana, whose tail was hooked over in intrigue and nosing at Héloïse’s hand. “Your familiar?”</p>
<p>“Morgana. I should feed her first—she will be expecting her breakfast.” Surely enough, as soon as Hecate opened the cupboard in which she kept the Familiar Feast, Morgana started yowling to be fed and pawing at Hecate’s skirts.</p>
<p>Hecate hurried to feed Morgana, and washed her hands, before turning to see the letter on the kitchen counter where she had left it. Her stomach turned to see it.</p>
<p>“Take all the time you need,” Héloïse said gently, noticing Hecate’s indecision. “But if it’s good or bad news, waiting won’t change anything.”</p>
<p>Héloïse was correct, naturally. She sat down at her writing desk, while Héloïse settled in an armchair to give her space. Hecate slit the envelope and withdrew the paper from the inside.</p>
<p>The very shape of Ada’s handwriting curled into <i>Dear Hecate</i> gave her the same feeling that it had done so many times before. <i>I quite understand, of course your research must come first.</i> Hecate’s heart sank. It felt like Ada did not understand at all—Hecate had only meant that her schedule was too busy to see Marthe, and had not meant for Ada to back away from her—or perhaps she had meant that. Hecate was so torn that she did not know what it was that she had intended any more.</p>
<p>Ada began telling her about Mildred Hubble, and the school’s performance in the Spelling Bee against Pentangle’s. It only made her miss being Cackle’s—she could have been there to coach those first years and they may well have won their round.</p>
<p>Hecate put her hand to her heart as she read on, knowing now the reason behind the delay in Ada’s reply: <i>If my letters become too much, especially while you are so deep in your project, one line from you will be sufficient and I will stop them until you tell me you would like to hear from me once more.</i></p>
<p>And—Hecate could barely process it—Ada had signed off with <i>Yours, Ada</i> as she had done before her last letter. But how was she to know if this was a conscious decision or merely the sign of a distracted mind? If only Ada knew how this possibly minute, unimportant detail would affect her.</p>
<p>Hecate’s earlier emotional outburst must have still been affecting her—for she felt the tears again making her vision swim before her eyes. She did not know in what way she was meant to take Ada’s letter any more—or if she was reading into things that were not meant or even thought over at all. Hecate looked up to Héloïse and nodded, holding out the letter for her to read.</p>
<p>“Before I read it, tell me what you think it means,” Héloïse said.</p>
<p>“I believe— Ada is merely responding out of duty, because it would be discourteous to not respond. And she does not wish to continue the correspondence, but is offering to out of pity.”</p>
<p>Héloïse took the letter and scrutinised it. Hecate waited impatiently, feeling as though Héloïse was holding her heart in her hands. </p>
<p>“Who is Mildred Hubble?”</p>
<p>Hecate swallowed. “A bit of a problem student who we have been guiding down the correct path.”</p>
<p>“That’s good—she wants to connect with you over a shared common interest.” There was another moment of silence as Héloïse read on. “How can you think she does not want to write to you? Did we read the same letter? The way she writes about stopping writing to you is heavy with such heartache—<i>one line from you will be sufficient and I will stop them until you tell me you would like to hear from me once more.</i> Don’t you hear it?”</p>
<p>Hecate blinked. She had read it all wrong in her determination to maintain a professional boundary between them.</p>
<p>“May I see the other letters?”</p>
<p>Hecate untied the ribbon she had been holding the stack of letters together with, and handed them over. She made a pot of tea for them both, and started on the pain au chocolat she had not eaten earlier while Héloïse read.</p>
<p>Héloïse stopped every now and then to read aloud extracts that she said were “absolutely declarations of love”—“<i>I had not realised just how intertwined your life had become with mine until you left for Paris.</i>”—“<i>if I have upset you or offended you I beg you will tell me what it is that I have done, that I may fix it.</i>”—“<i>I can’t think what I might have done to deserve someone like you.</i>”—“<i>I hope you know too that you yourself are very much a part of my happiness, my dear.</i>” Hecate bowed her head, wondering if perhaps Héloïse was correct. Hearing these particular lines did give the impression that perhaps they were meant in a romantic way, and she did quite clearly recall all of these lines, since the words had made her heart feel full and strange.</p>
<p>“How can I further convince you? Oh Hecate— I wish you had just a little more confidence in yourself.”</p>
<p>“What if I am wrong—and she has none of these romantic feelings for me?”</p>
<p>“Sometimes you have to take that chance,” Héloïse shrugged. “Before Nina—there was a girl I was obsessed with at the magical arts college. I would read into every little thing she did. I was so hopeful that I kissed her after an exhibition we both were presenting at. She was so offended and said she was not even interested in women, and wondered why I should ever think that she was.”</p>
<p>Hecate closed her eyes and shook her head. “I feel like that is what will happen with Ada and I.”</p>
<p>“Impossible. There is evidence in these letters,” Héloïse said adamantly, handing back the letters. “She writes <i>Yours</i> at the end—as in, belonging to you. A little over-familiar for ‘just colleagues’.”</p>
<p>At Héloïse’s insistence, Hecate began writing a response immediately—it was strange to have someone telling her when to write a personal correspondence, and to be so invested in it—but Hecate was grateful for the encouragement, for had she not been present, Hecate would likely have not responded at all, or continued in her foolish misreading.</p>
<p><i>Dearest Ada,</i> she began—for the dearest indeed she was. Her thoughts were interrupted by Héloïse cooing over Morgana, who was purring.</p>
<p>“She may well let you pick her up,” Hecate said, looking up from the impressed with how quickly Héloïse had won Morgana’s affections.</p>
<p>Héloïse scooped her up onto her lap. “She has such long, soft fur,” Héloïse said, stroking her.</p>
<p>“She does.”</p>
<p>Hecate wondered what she ought to write. Héloïse had told her to write from the heart—but Hecate was still worried. What if— no. She would try her utmost to stop thinking that every scenario would end in catastrophe. </p>
<p>First and foremost, Hecate wanted to assure Ada that she had in no way intended to make Ada feel that she should not write any more letters. <i>Letters from you of any length and at any frequency are always most welcome and I cherish them. My erratic work schedule does not prevent me from reading your letters, or responding to them, only from maintaining any sort of regular in-person social interaction. Your letters are a highlight of my day.</i> It was not overly elegant, but Hecate felt her pen stilted by her fear of saying too much still—and she was exhausted.</p>
<p>She also addressed what Ada had said about Mildred Hubble, since she wanted to show that she was interested and engaged in what Ada had to say. Hecate mused for a short while before signing off with <i>Warmly</i>, since that was what she had been using before. She did not wish to change her style completely—in case Ada thought she had undergone a personality change spell.</p>
<p>“Can I see what you’ve written?” Héloïse asked her.</p>
<p>Hecate allowed her to review it, and bit her lip somewhat self-consciously. She felt like she might as well have written <i>I love you</i>, but perhaps it might not have come across that way to another person.</p>
<p>“I think you could be even freer with your emotions—but you should build up to this on your own.”</p>
<p>“I would not wish to write anything that would come across as out-of-character for me,” Hecate muttered.</p>
<p>“Of course. I can post this for you, if you like? You look like you could do with a long sleep, and I have to head into work anyway,” Héloïse offered.</p>
<p>Hecate nodded. “That would be very kind of you.” </p>
<p>While Hecate was addressing and putting the stamp on the envelope, Héloïse investigated her kitchen.</p>
<p>“What is this?” Héloïse plucked at the plastic-wrapped loaf of sandwich bread Hecate had bought from the Carrefour.</p>
<p>“Bread?”</p>
<p>“No, this is not bread. You have a boulangerie so close to you that we passed on the way here and yet you have bought this? Remind me to take you shopping in the witching district sometime, and you will know what truly good bread is.”</p>
<p>Hecate nodded again, too tired to speak, and allowed Héloïse to take the precious message away with her.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Héloïse was certainly correct on one thing—Hecate had needed to sleep properly. She managed to get herself into bed by eight in the morning, curled up with a grateful Morgana and did not wake until after six in the evening. Hecate had not thought it possible to sleep for so many hours together—and she felt quite groggy for it. As for the other parts—she would have to wait until she heard back from Ada.</p>
<p>Her observation and testing work on the dusk sorrel was hopefully going to be ending soon—for she was reaching the stage where she could begin to start brewing with it, and owing to the dark evenings, it only needed to be brewed after sunset, and she could quite easily do that over the course of a few days rather than continue to run herself ragged—and inconvenience Héloïse with her strange hours, for there was no dissuading her from her visits.</p>
<p>She estimated that she could resume normal hours soon, and would only need a few days of brewing to accumulate as much potion as she needed for the trials. </p>
<p>Hecate used her last night of staying awake to ensure she had all the data she needed before she would start the brewing tomorrow. She would miss working in the greenhouse by night—there was something quite comforting about working by candlelight when there was no one around—and having the freedom to go between the various greenhouses without the worry of disturbing anyone.</p>
<p>Hecate also brewed some Wide Awake and Fast Asleep potions for use in the morning and evening of the next day—she needed to time-shift her schedule back to normal, and use of the potions in the short term was not unhealthy.</p>
<p>In the small hours of the morning, Hecate returned to her flat in the Ordinary world to feed Morgana, and for a few hours’ break—to find a response from Ada.</p>
<p>Hecate’s excitement was somewhat tempered over the brevity and the way she signed off with <i>Affectionately</i>, which was a step back from <i>Yours</i>, but it did lift her spirits to read: <i>It is always a delight to receive your letters as well. I am so glad that my letters are not a burden. I haven’t much time at the moment, but I will write again soon.</i> Hecate struggled somewhat to understand why her letters brought Ada delight, since they often felt dry, even to her—but then again, Ada was worrying that her letters were a “burden”, which was the most ludicrous thing that Hecate had ever heard. Perhaps they were both worrying over the content of their letters quite needlessly.</p>
<p>It was difficult, over the next few days, to keep heart as she waited—having exposed a certain amount of emotion in her last letter—but tried to stay mindful of the fact that Ada had said she was short on time. </p>
<p>She took some comfort from the fact that when she returned to daytime hours, she could once again buy Pink Lady apples from the grocer, who was overjoyed to see <i>la dame au haut-de-forme</i> again.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate’s patience was soon rewarded, for Ada sent her a long letter with a lovely surprise.</p>
<p>Ada’s mother Alma had invited her to stay with them for Yule. It was not the first time she had been invited to holiday with the Cackles, but this time the invitation felt different. Perhaps it was Hecate reading into things—but she thought there was a caution on Ada’s part that felt strange. Alma had suggested that Marthe be invited too, but Ada had declined this. There was a layer of meaning there that Hecate could not quite penetrate, but she doubted this was owing to any romantic feelings on Ada’s behalf.</p>
<p>When Hecate asked Héloïse about it, one afternoon when she had come around with some more savoury scones and a pot of tea, Héloïse indicated the last paragraph, noting, “See—she says her <i>mother</i> suggested Marthe join them. The same mother who wanted them married. And Ada is uncomfortable with that idea—but not of having you to stay.”</p>
<p>“I have been invited before, though, so perhaps I am—just seen as part of the furniture.”</p>
<p>Héloïse shook her head vehemently. “Not as part of the furniture. Read here, where she writes <i>you’d be our only overnight guest who is not a family member</i>. They would not invite you if you were not wanted. It means you are practically family to them.”</p>
<p>Hecate was still unconvinced. </p>
<p>“So? Are you going to accept the offer or not?”</p>
<p>Hecate sighed, and put her pen down. She had been attempting to proofread a lecture she was due to give soon, but for the last half hour she had read all of one sentence.</p>
<p>“I am undecided.”</p>
<p>“Well, if you do not return to Britain, Nina and I are going to take you hostage and make you spend Yule with us. We are not travelling anywhere this winter because of our Portugal trip so soon beforehand, so we will be at home. Nina likes to go to all kinds of places, but I much prefer staying at home. It feels so much more special when you have all your own comforts around you, and the decorations, and all the baking—” Héloïse cut herself off with a passing shade of self-conscious wrinkling her brow.</p>
<p>Hecate agreed. She much preferred spending Yule at home—but she only realised in that moment that she considered the Cackles’ family Yule to be the place she most thought of as home.</p>
<p>“Also the coven will be getting together for a Yule ritual and a feast.”</p>
<p>“That is a very generous offer,” Hecate thanked her. “I will let you know when I have decided.”</p>
<p>She turned back to her lecture script, lips pursed as she faced cutting several quite interesting sections for time purposes. And yet—her mind kept wandering back to the letter that lay half-open on the bench. </p>
<p>“You still look troubled,” Héloïse pressed her. She had reached the end of her teacup—only a few escaped fragments of tea leaves and a rim of milk remained, but Hecate was quite used to her company while she worked by now and found herself not minding if she stayed.</p>
<p>“This part, where Ada talks about the gloves that Marthe sent her,” Hecate said stiffly, showing her. <i>Marthe sent me a charming pair of fingerless gloves – black with cat’s eyes and whiskers on the back of each hand. They look quite a lot like my black cat flats, actually.</i> It was a wonderful idea to send Ada something cosy as the weather grew colder—Hecate only wished she had had it, to keep Ada warm.</p>
<p>“You don’t need to send Ada gifts to show her that you care about her,” Héloïse reminded her gently. “She said your letters delight her.”</p>
<p>“Marthe Théière is one of those types to be very free with her gifts,” Hecate admitted. “But all the same, I wonder if she is trying to woo her.”</p>
<p>“If Ada thought that, you would think that she would keep such news of wooing to herself,” Héloïse suggested. “And even with this all this generosity, Ada doesn’t want her to stay with her family for Yule, but she does want you. What does that tell you?”</p>
<p>Hecate could see several flaws in Héloïse’s logic. “It could well be that Ada is being overly cautious with Marthe because she does not want to rush things with her—because the relationship is so important to her—whereas she does not have to think twice about inviting me, because she has only ever thought of me as a friend.”</p>
<p>Héloïse gave an exasperated sigh. “You are so stubborn, Hecate Hardbroom.”</p>
<p>Hecate blushed to hear the normally rather gentle Héloïse say this, but knew she meant it with the best of intentions. Perhaps it was time that she try to be a little less pessimistic.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate wrote back that same day to answer Ada’s letter. She decided to delay Ada’s offer to spend Yule with her and her family by equivocating about whether she will have reached a logical place in her research to take a break. It was the safest option, and gave her an excuse that was quite plausible.</p>
<p>Hecate began writing about the Yuletide experiences she had as a young witch—for she had been thinking rather intently upon what she considered as her “home”, and it had made her quite introspective about the past. Her pen got quite carried away writing about how they used to visit her maternal grandmother’s spacious home in the Lake District—and how she would be expected to babysit her younger cousins, who were all rather wilder than herself. They had the tendency to transform into <i>perfect terrors, and had an uncanny ability to figure out when the adults were all distracted and therefore less likely to notice outrageous antics.</i> She supposed she had always been destined to keep rambunctious children in some form of order—though now she had much more authority and experience. How long ago it now seemed.</p>
<p>She felt that she should also mention that Nina and Héloïse were going to be absent next week on account of their holiday to Portugal. It was weighing on her mind quite a bit—especially since she and Héloïse had become rather close over deciphering Ada’s letters together. They were her closest friends in Paris—perhaps her only friends, for she did not think she could honestly count Marthe Théière as someone she could speak to about Ada. The others she saw with regularity were merely acquaintances, and a closer relationship seemed too out of reach. All of this could of course not go into the letter—but on a less personal level, it would be unfortunate to lose Nina’s expertise and knowledge on the subject of botany.</p>
<p>She supposed that a week would pass rather quickly, what with all the experiments she still had left to do—truthfully, she was more worried about the letters of Ada’s that she would receive in Héloïse’s absence and how she should answer them than her ability to continue her work, but she could not tell Ada such a thing.</p>
<p>Hecate ended the letter with <i>Affectionately</i>, as Ada had often done. It was a step, she thought, in the right direction, and she hoped Ada would notice.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate had spent the past few evenings brewing the dusk sorrel into the memory potions, while spending her days in search of another form of enhancement—for her initial testing of the potion on herself had not quite proved as successful as she had hoped, despite all the time she had spent in observing the best way to prepare it. It was a disappointment, since so much of her time had been invested into it—but it mattered very little if the outcome was not perfect.</p>
<p>Hecate took the opportunity of Nina working her last few library shifts before her holiday to visit her and take full advantage of her knowledge. She had been rather helpful in eliminating some of the less useful herbs that were known to counteract the advantages gained in carefully preparing the <i>mentha aquatica</i> and <i>menyanthes trifoliate</i> in the way Hecate had.</p>
<p>She developed a new list of options to test while Nina was absent, thinking how only a few months ago she would never had dreamt of asking for help—assuming that to do so was a sign of lack of knowledge and the requisite intelligence—but now knew that sharing knowledge was highly encouraged and saved time that would have otherwise been wasted. </p>
<p>Nina also recommended her own publication in the <i>Cauldron Review</i> where she discussed the changes properties of herbs from the Arctic Circle when brought to soil in warmer climates. Hecate in fact thought she remembered the article in question from a few years ago—though she had not realised that Nina herself had written it—but needed to look it up again. Nina was not sure of whether it would be useful, or merely an interesting read, but she wished Hecate luck with it.</p>
<p>The article proved very useful indeed, for Hecate considered that she could experiment with flora from extreme climates adjusted to a mild one—and judging from Nina’s findings, the resulting shift in activity to the magical properties of the herbs would mean that the effects might speed up or slow down—which might well have an effect on the duration for which the potion would last. She would have to do some vigorous testing—and realised that this project was turning out much more complicated than she had initially thought.</p>
<p>Hecate had a meeting with one of the laboratory assistants from the living encyclopaedia of herbs, Mme Desmarais, to discuss the possibility of trying to breed crystal lichen and fury thorn—two herbs that had temporal effects—out of their magically controlled conditions that mimicked their usual habitats. Fortunately, since Nina’s research had paved the way for this several years back, it was definitely possibly, and Mme Desmarais said she could arrange for some parent plants to be delivered to Hecate’s greenhouse for her to breed from when she was ready, and that she would offer her time to ensure their healthy growth. It unfortunately sounded like the project would take longer than expected, but she was sure with some hard work and more hours that she could manage to finish this phase before Yule.</p>
<p>Hecate returned to the flat, mind humming with ideas for the new chapter of her project, to find a nice long letter from Ada, in response to her own ramble about the Yules of her youth and her troublesome younger cousins. Morgana insisted on being fussed while Hecate read—Hecate provided her knuckles for Morgana to rub her head against and cast her eye down the page with eagerness.</p>
<p>Ada rather surprised her—that she and Agatha had been the troublemakers of her family, and included a few examples of pranks that they had played. Somehow the image of a very young Ada Cackle getting up to no good, like her own cousins used to, was quite sweet, even if Hecate found such pranks truly reprehensible indeed.</p>
<p>Hecate balked at the news that Ada was bringing Agatha’s painting to her mother’s house for Yule—which meant that that awful Geraldine Gullet would be there too, for Ada was quite right and it would be impossible to separate them. Hecate could think of no one less unpleasant to share Yule with than Ada—even Mildred Hubble, whom Hecate was certain did not know the first thing about Yuletide. Yet Ada did make a good point—if left in the castle unattended, Agatha would be vulnerable to any of Agatha’s old coven who might decide to break in and free her. At least where she could be seen, she was safe—but did she really have to be put in the kitchen where she would be watching over every meal preparation, every conversation? Hecate sighed, and supposed it was a sisterly bond that she could never understand.</p>
<p>Ada expressed her hope that Hecate would not be dissuaded from spending Yule with them because of Agatha’s presence—but Hecate had not even considered that as a factor. Part of her admired her devotion to her sister, even if it was something that baffled her. Hecate placed her fingertips over where Ada had written <i>Yours</i>—her most wonderful, confusing witch—wishing she could touch the hand that wrote it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate took lunch with Nina and Héloïse the day before they had to leave, sad to know that she would have to return to eating alone for the next week until their return. She tried not to let her feelings show, but Héloïse was not so guarded—Hecate could tell that she was concerned over her ability to take care of herself when Héloïse was not around to impose treats from the boulangerie upon her. Hecate imagined her diet would consist of far fewer scones.</p>
<p>Héloïse pressed a slip of paper with the address they would be staying at into Hecate’s hands, and told her that she was to write as often as she liked—and she also included the name of her favourite boulangerie in the witching district where she had been buying Hecate’s treats, in case she should need some good food.</p>
<p>Hecate made her way back under an overcast sky to the greenhouse alone—though she found that she could not concentrate on her work for thinking about Nina and Héloïse. As a mist of rain began to settle on the arched glass roof over her, she thought that she might as well put her time to good use and try to answer Ada’s last letter.</p>
<p>Hecate half-wished that Héloïse was available to help with her response, but she knew that Héloïse and Nina would be busy with packing and making sure all their travel arrangements were taken care of. She needed some verification that she was validating Ada’s feelings enough while expressing her own concern over Agatha’s presence, even as a painting, at Alma’s house. Thinking it over, she was sure she had done not enough of the former and too much of the latter, but she would send it—for it had been a few days and Hecate knew she ought to have responded. She supposed she had sympathised that <i>no decision concerning Agatha can be easy</i>, and made it clear that she thought that Ada had come to the most sensible arrangement possible in the circumstances—and that seemed adequate. She hoped Héloïse would approve—and of course, more importantly, that it would help Ada.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The laboratory was noticeably quieter without Nina—and with the knowledge that Héloïse would not be stopping by later—but as Hecate hung up her coat and hat that morning, her eyes fell upon a note left for her on the bulletin board by the entrance, amidst various teaching schedules and calls for conference papers and restaurant menus.</p>
<p>It was from Mme Desmarais—she said that the parent plants were ready for her, but that they had not delivered them into her usual laboratory because of the delicate temperature stasis spells around them that might interfere with other witches’ work. They were being stored in another greenhouse, where she could work on them and not be disturbed or disturb anyone in turn.</p>
<p>Eager to get started, Hecate collected her notes and books and headed towards the other greenhouse, feeling a spring in her step as she did so.</p>
<p>The crystal lichen and fury thorn were on opposite benches in the greenhouse, with shimmering magical fields surrounding them to sustain their preferred environments. Along with some specialised tools for handling them through the field, there were instructions for spells that would allow her to enter the field without experiencing any excessive heat or cold that might cause ill effects.</p>
<p>Hecate took great pleasure in drawing up a fresh table of observations in her notes, and it was immensely satisfying to take all the readings—and fascinating to have the opportunity to work with these herbs she had only read about before. Having Nina’s old project notes as well was incredibly valuable—and reading her handwriting, felt that she was there with her to guide her even while she was in Portugal.</p>
<p>By the afternoon, Hecate was ready for the initial brewing, but realised that brewing a potion when one of the ingredients must be kept at a particular temperature would be tricky. The fury thorn fared just fine in the cool air, but the crystal lichen would shatter the minute it was brought out of the magical temperature stabilising field, and would have to be transferred, since the potion itself could not be heated in the field. It took several tries for Hecate to get the transference just right—but she eventually managed to let the crystal lichen slip into the bubbling liquid at the precise time in order for it not to shatter.</p>
<p>Neither potion had the intended effect, which was just what Hecate had predicted, and of course what she had hoped to see with her hypothesis. The fury thorn was rather explosive during the reaction to the other ingredients, whereas the crystal lichen almost froze the entire contents of the cauldron. Upon preliminary testing, both potions made the effective time of the eidetic memory effect shorter. She hoped that with the reconditioning, at least one of the two would improve.</p>
<p>At the end of the day, Mme Desmarais intruded upon her concentration to check how she was proceeding and whether she required any help. Hecate regained her composure from having been perturbed quite out of her state of absorption, and arranged a time with her tomorrow to start the propagation of the samples, which would require gradual and careful reconditioning spells, as per Nina’s methods. Thankfully, these were documented very well, and she had little trouble replicating the results—but it was quite ambitious for one person to handle alone. Nina had had a team working with her, but Hecate’s project funding had not allowed for further partnership, and she would have to make a request for further funding, which she rather hoped to not have to do. </p>
<p>When she returned to the Ordinary World—detouring via the Carrefour with an amount of guilt, as she had done ever since Héloïse’s comment about the inferiority of the bread she had been buying—Hecate was exhausted, but content with what she had achieved. The last thing she wanted to be doing was battling the afternoon crowds of the supermarket in central Paris, but she had spent too long relying on Héloïse bringing food to her and was in desperate need of a restock.</p>
<p>A letter from Ada awaited her when she finally retreated indoors from the darkness of the late autumn early evening—and when she had put away the shopping—settled down with Morgana in her lap to read it.</p>
<p>Hecate’s eye was drawn immediately to the <i>Affectionately</i> at the bottom of the page, before she had a chance to read the rest of the brief note. Even though Ada had switched between <i>Affectionately</i> and <i>Yours</i> before—and seemingly without particular rhyme or reason—she still wondered if she should take this as a sign of rejection. What would Héloïse say? She would most likely remind Hecate that Ada seemed to have meant nothing by it in the past and that it did not necessarily mean anything in the present.</p>
<p>The rest of the letter was merely two sentences, where she reminded Hecate that she should be taking care of herself. <i>I hope that in your feverish work you are remembering such mundane things as eating and sleeping and hydrating. I worry for you knowing that your supplier of tea and scones is in Portugal.</i> Having Ada worry over her was new and rather touching—and showed a certain level of familiarity that Hecate thought was quite promising—although she may well have been misreading the tone. </p>
<p>Hecate did not quite know how to respond—since she had indeed not taken care of herself too well on that first day, and completely forgotten to eat lunch. She realised she would have to adjust to someone not bringing her food all the time, which she was quite embarrassed to admit to herself—and certainly would not do so to Ada.</p>
<p>As a kind of redemption for her inability to remember that she needed to pay attention to meal times, Hecate prepared a simple roasted squash paella for herself—for she could cook fairly adequately, but she merely had not bothered often enough for these past few months on account of it only being herself that she was cooking for. Morgana seemed rather intrigued by the new activity her mistress was engaged in. On discovering that the delicious smell came from the pan on the hob, she meowed at Hecate in a way that she knew was a hungry, “where’s my food” fashion. Hecate thought as she gave Morgana a treat that perhaps one day, when Nina and Héloïse were back from Portugal, she would invite them over for dinner.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate passed much of the week breeding and growing her cuttings into usable plants. She pushed herself harder than ever before. She continued her observations and painstakingly transplanted cuttings of the parent plants into separate pots. This part of the process would be complete by the end of the week. Without distractions, she thought it could be easily accomplished.</p>
<p>To prevent the crystal lichen from shattering, it had to be gradually brought to temperature over a long, drawn out period of time. Hecate spent an hour for each tiny increment of warming the propagated samples in one of the chanting chambers—and chanted herself hoarse over the space of six hours to adjust the crystal lichen to room temperature. </p>
<p>Mme Desmarais was proving to be something of an antagonist—she increasingly revealed how dismissive she was of some of Nina’s methods, despite being much younger and junior to her in the department. Hecate sensed something of an interpersonal disagreement between them, and it made her enormously uncomfortable. Her chest began to constrict every time Mme Desmarais burst in through the door, and hoped that she would not have to endure her assistance for much longer, for she was much more inclined to take Nina’s defence than the pushy Mme Desmarais.</p>
<p>The fury thorn proved not quite as complicated as the crystal lichen, but it had the unfortunate habit of emitting spurts of fire from its blossoms at uneven intervals. In the spirit of not having any of her person ignite, Hecate had to make liberal use of protective spells and ensure that they stayed active. She knew that there were several different triggers that seemed to precede the flames—when it was reaching developmental stages, when the temperature around it raised or increased, when its thorns snagged on something, and when it was moved unexpectedly. But sometimes it seemed to breathe fire quite randomly when nothing at all was the matter, and Hecate suspected, perhaps in antithesis to its name, that it also did this when it was “happy”—either that, or it was “angry” all the time. Hecate could not quite decide.</p>
<p>As the week marched on, Hecate found she had had very little time to write to Ada, but carved out some time from her work schedule to scribble a line to be delivered at the end of the day. She let Ada know that she was indeed <i>making sure to maintain adequate levels of hydration, nutrition, and sleep in the absence of Mlles Jardin and Tournesol</i>—for she now was making a concerted effort to do so, especially since her schedule was so demanding, what with the addition of three lectures of Nina’s that she had to cover that week. She did not wish to update Ada on any specifics, since it was all quite experimental. In a perhaps leap of ill-advised compulsivity, she signed off this letter with <i>Yours, Hecate</i>, taking a brief moment to wonder whether it was too forward before she realised that she really did not have the time to spare to rewrite it.</p>
<p>While the parent fury thorn in the temperature-controlled magical field remained boldly breathing flames of five to ten centimetres in height, the propagated plants at room temperature merely choked out sad little puffs of smoke intermittently. This elicited some sly comments from Mme Desmarais about “Mlle Jardin’s lack of foresight”, which Hecate deemed unwarranted, since her project had solely been on herbs from the Arctic Circle, which behaved quite differently to those from the hottest parts of the earth. The proof would be in the potion—but Hecate fed a supplement to one of the sorry-looking samples to see if it needed some additional care to counteract what must be an uncomfortable temperature for them.</p>
<p>Ada’s follow-up letter unfortunately found Hecate at rather a tense moment—and her questioning Hecate’s definition of just how <i>adequate</i> her nutrition was left Hecate feeling quite patronised. Her comment of <i>Ought I to ask Marthe to visit with tea and a sandwich?</i> did nothing for her mood, either, since Marthe was still a source of some contention. She wondered what Héloïse would make of this, but resolved to leave her response for the next day.</p>
<p>Perhaps working with the fury thorn had made her a little short-tempered, for the next day, when she picked up her Pink Lady from the grocer and began turning her attention more to the crystal lichen, she felt softer once more, focusing on how Ada had responded to her <i>Yours</i> with one of her own and pointedly ignoring the comment about Marthe.</p>
<p>The crystal lichen developed a different—and even more beautiful—kind of crystalline structure to adapt to its new environment, which Hecate found truly fascinating. Nina had not worked with crystal lichen specifically, so Hecate made sure to take ample notes for academic interest. She realised after devoting half a day to such a task that from these notes she could produce a research paper all on its own, and tried to curb her excitement somewhat.</p>
<p>While working with the crystal lichen, she was surprised to discover emitted its own frosty miasma as it respired when she turned one of its leaves over with her bare fingers and recoiled from the unexpected temperature. It reminded her of touching soft-fallen snow as she had done last Yuletide, when she had taken off her glove to feel the texture of the snow change as she pressed her warm finger into its crisp, perfect surface—and in turn, she realised she had not yet decided about whether she was going to accept Ada’s offer to stay with them this year as well.</p>
<p>Hecate had seriously considered that in the event of her refusal, she could propose to stay alone at Cackle’s with Agatha’s painting. She knew that Nina and Héloïse would protest if they caught wind of this, but it would take the burden from the Cackles’ shoulders.</p>
<p>However, Hecate knew that that was not what she <i>wanted</i>. She wanted—Ada. The proximity they would share over Yule would allow her to see whether Ada’s intentions perhaps edged into the romantic. Marthe would only be there for a day, if at all—for Hecate even wondered if she would join them for the solstice celebration since she seemed to have a wealth of friends in Paris.</p>
<p>That evening, as she stepped out briskly into the cool air that she expected from late November, Hecate was astonished to see that although it was dark, the streets were brilliant with the illumination from thousands of tiny lights—tiny phials of potion smaller than a fingertip glimmering with the light of captured stardust. From the air fell flurries of magical snowflakes that vanished as they settled. It lightened her heart to walk down the street so beautifully adorned and gaze up into the gently tumbling snowflakes—and those around her seemed to be likewise enthralled. The shops, too, had decorated their windows with festive foliage and lights and what looked like real snow lining the mullions of the windows, magically preserved so that it would not melt.</p>
<p>As she ventured into the streets of Ordinary Paris, the magical Yule decorations gave way to strings of elegant fairy lights in draped waves overhead and sparkling from the branch of every tree. Metallic-coloured tinsel framed shop displays, and artificial pine trees in various forms stood proud, with shiny baubles hanging from their branches. It was their Christmas, or <i>Noël</i>, as flashing letters spelt out—and even though the plastic decorations were not to Hecate’s particular liking, she felt her spirits raised by the change in atmosphere.</p>
<p>As soon as Hecate arrived home, she shed her gloves and hat and coat, and rushed to her writing desk where Ada’s letter had lain since yesterday, still unanswered. She felt as though she had made her decision about whether she would be staying with Ada over Yuletide, and hoped that she would be able to follow through and tell her.</p>
<p><i>Dear Ada,</i> she wrote, and eyed Marthe’s name on the other leaf. She was sure that Marthe would be all too obliging and bring her a sandwich and tea at the drop of a hat—but she would also bring plenty of conversation that would distract her from her work. Most of all, she did not want to see Marthe’s face light up when she spoke of Ada. </p>
<p>In the most delicate way possible, Hecate said that it would be unnecessary to trouble Marthe, and that Hecate would be happy to provide Héloïse’s address—<i>you may write to her directly so she can confirm that I have not suffered ill effects from my week left to my own devices</i>.</p>
<p>Her heart quickened as she prepared to solidify her decision. There would be no reneging on the matter once she had written it—and the thought made the pen quiver in her hand. Morgana twirled herself around Hecate’s leg, and she petted her for the strength to confirm with Ada the choice she had made.</p>
<p>She had done it. Hecate had panicked over her last letter when she had ended with <i>Yours</i>, so she opted for the slightly less obvious <i>Fondly</i> this time. She could only handle one big step at a time.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Ada’s response was there for her in the morning, and Hecate had been so worried over the entire matter that she read it there in the hallway of her building before she left. Relief flooded through her as soon as she read that Ada accepted her decision, although she was still in two minds as to whether it had been the correct one, for both her and Ada.</p>
<p>The Yule lights were still glowing brightly as Hecate entered the arrondissement de la sorcellerie—much more visible than the Ordinary fairy lights that had been overwhelmed even by the dawn light. They buoyed Hecate’s heart as she began to slip into doubt about whether she had made the right choice.</p>
<p>Hecate’s workday began with a lecture over at the Université de magie, where she felt she did an adequate job of conveying the importance of studying magical herbs alongside the creatures that utilised those herbs in their existence for Nina’s first-year aquatic botany module. It was based on Nina’s research, which Hecate knew a fair amount about by now—but Nina had also left her the beginnings of her research paper that were mostly pieced together into a lecture. There had not been much to add, fortunately.</p>
<p>It was only during a conversation with a few of the students after the lecture about her own research—for they were interested when she had mentioned that she was a visiting academic from Britain—that Hecate paused as she wondered where it was that she was going with the eidetic memory potion—and whether she wanted to continue to perfect it, or if there was another end goal. The potion already worked in its short-term usage—and she knew there were other, more useful ways her research into memory potions could be incorporated that could go further than just allowing perfect recall for short-term use.</p>
<p>She considered that should the crystal lichen, with its effect of duration improvement, work in the eidetic memory potion, it would give her grounds to investigate its effects in other types of memory potion—for example, in those that were used to help recover memory in patients with amnesia or dementia, potentially. The longer duration could mean for a more effective and sustainable treatment. Though she knew only a little about potions used in medical applications, it seemed like a worthier use for her discovery.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The day of Nina and Héloïse’s return was almost upon Hecate, and she was utterly taken aback with delight as she entered the building to see that it was fully decked out with Yuletide cheer—specially bred rambling flowers adorned the hallways of the Académie des botanistes, their buds bobbing in arched trellises overhead in bright and glowing colours. Bushes of holly and poinsettias bloomed everywhere—and the effect was really quite charming. The decorations seemed to be fostering good will, for she happened upon Mme Beauchêne in the corridor, who nodded a greeting and gave a rare smile at her.</p>
<p>Her new inspiration after her lecture the other day gave her a fresh perspective on her progress, and she decided it was high time to move on and test the effects of the temperature-adjusted fury thorn and crystal lichen. She hoped that she would have something to show Nina on her return, since it was her research that Hecate had been applying.</p>
<p>The fury thorn had not perked up with any amount of care, unfortunately—and when she added it to the potion, it did virtually nothing. Hecate supposed that it had not adapted well to being outside its usual preferred temperature with the methods she had used, and that its magical properties had suffered as a result of it putting all its energy into staying alive. She almost felt sorry for the poor things, and put several of the test samples back into the temperature-controlled field as recompense, since they were unfortunately useless as they were.</p>
<p>With the crystal lichen, however, she was vastly more successful. The newly adapted crystal structure allowed for a much slower release of the magical properties when she added it to the potion. Compared to the original effects of the potion, Hecate found that the duration showed great signs of improvement. In the single sample she had time to test—for it was by now growing late—the duration of the potion lasted for over an hour—and Hecate was certain that she could improve further upon this with different methods of preparation of the temperature-adjusted crystal lichen. Tentatively, her experiment had been a success—and this would definitely pave the way for further research.</p>
<p>Hecate feverishly documented all her findings, even though the hour was growing so late that her eyes could barely stay open. She came to what she hoped would be a good stopping point for the night, and left for home—walking briskly through the night air, re-energised as the chill closed in around her with thoughts that would not stop racing. Tired as she had been, Hecate lay awake once she got into bed, too excited as new ideas whirled around her head.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The next day, back in the greenhouse laboratory, Hecate wondered when Héloïse and Nina were due to arrive back. She had not written to Héloïse at all—which she had consciously done so she would not disturb their holiday—and this had meant that she did not know at what time she should expect them. They would, of course, be tired after their travelling—for although they would be doing so by the usual means rather than braving the Ordinary routes, even magical transportation had its tiring aspects and paperwork that had to be dealt with. Adding to that, Portugal was one hour behind France—one hour could make all the difference in terms of one’s stomach, as Hecate had found out when she had first moved to Paris.</p>
<p>It was around midday, when Hecate was deep into updating her charts, that the greenhouse door burst open. Hecate started, anxious that Mme Desmarais had come in for another bout of criticism—but was overjoyed to see that it was Nina and Héloïse.</p>
<p>“There you are! We looked in the other greenhouse, but they said you had moved to here!” Hecate was overwhelmed by a flurry of loose golden curls as Héloïse pressed her cheek to Hecate’s with <i>bises</i> and hugged her. Nina gave her a similarly warm hug, slightly more restrained, and squeezed her shoulder. Hecate had missed them both more than she had expected.</p>
<p>“Please let’s go to lunch,” Nina said, the hunger clear in her voice, “Before I eat one of these plants.”</p>
<p>“I cannot say I advise it,” Hecate responded dryly. “The fury thorn will burn you from the inside out. But I wish you a pleasant lunch.”</p>
<p>“Hecate, you’re coming with us, whether you like it or not,” Héloïse said, linking her arm around Hecate’s elbow and dragging her from her charts.</p>
<p>The three of them walked to a café that Nina said was a particular favourite—but when they arrived, she was disappointed to see that it was clearly taking the Yule decorations to an extreme, and Nina almost point blank refused to set foot inside.</p>
<p>“It’s not usually like this. Every year they put up the decorations earlier and earlier,” Nina said, an eyebrow raised at the colourful flashing lights. “It isn’t even December yet. Soon we will be celebrating Yule even before Halloween.”</p>
<p>“I like it,” Héloïse retorted. “It brings some joy when the days are growing shorter and colder.”</p>
<p>Hecate agreed with them both—it was quite early for Yule celebrations, which certainly drew from Ordinaries’ commercialisation of the time of year—but she could not deny that it was cheerful—at least, when tasteful. Nina begrudgingly pushed open the door, if only because she was rather hankering after their soupe à l’oignon and would weather any unreasonable amount of slightly out-of-season Yule decorations to taste it.</p>
<p>“The Académie des botanistes also has their Yule decorations up,” Hecate noted.</p>
<p>“Yes, and I don’t like it,” Nina sniffed.</p>
<p>As they waited for their appetisers, Nina and Héloïse gushed about their holiday and all the tremendous things they had seen and eaten and done. Héloïse had been inspired by the change of scenery, and showed Hecate her sketch book of some new designs for clocks. Nina said that she had found some wonderful herbs but had been unable to do anything with them or preserve them, since all her tools were too cumbersome to travel with. But it sounded as though they had really had a wonderful break, seeing quite a few historical sites that sounded fascinating to Hecate.</p>
<p>They were also very keen to hear how Hecate had been getting on. She told them about the advances she had made with the crystal lichen and fury thorn—but when Hecate mentioned Mme Desmarais’ name, Nina let out a string of expletives that caused Hecate’s ears to turn pink and turned a few heads in the café.</p>
<p>“My apologies,” Nina said, with an irritated growl. “But Mme Desmarais and I do not have what you would call a good working relationship.” Héloïse rubbed her arm gently.</p>
<p>“She was not very complimentary of you,” Hecate admitted.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t expect she was,” Nina said hotly. “I taught her about a decade ago, when Héloïse and I first started dating. She tried to woo me even after I made the boundaries clear. I had to get the Head of Department and Dean involved. It was very uncomfortable. Now she has a personal vendetta against me and any project that I have ever touched.”</p>
<p>“Ninette,” Héloïse said soothingly, and kissed her cheek. It appeared to mollify Nina, for her expression relaxed, and she bade Hecate continue telling them about her research.</p>
<p>Hecate went on, emphasising how useful Nina’s notes and previous paper had been in reconditioning the herbs to survive outside of their containment fields, and that a few of her hypotheses had been confirmed only yesterday. She mentioned the idea that she had had for medical applications, but at that moment, the food arrived and they were all rather diverted. It was possibly for the best—since Hecate had not yet decided whether she wanted to explore that avenue.</p>
<p>“How about your negotiations with your Ada?” Héloïse ventured.</p>
<p>Hecate blushed at Héloïse calling her <i>her</i> Ada. “Ah—about that. I am afraid I am going to have to disappoint you both—for it is with Ada I will be celebrating Yule.”</p>
<p>Héloïse gasped in delight. “But this is wonderful news! We will be sorry not to share Yule with you, but I know this is something that will be very special for you.”</p>
<p>“You will have such a lovely time, even if Paris will be the lonelier without you,” Nina said. Her mood seemed to have improved from the moment the soup had touched her lips—or perhaps Héloïse’s use of <i>Ninette</i>, which appeared to be Nina’s weakness.</p>
<p>Hecate was sure that her absence would affect very little, but did not argue. “Ada has been worrying about whether I shall have been eating properly in the absence of you bringing me scones and tea to my laboratory, Héloïse. May I tell her that you have confirmed that I am indeed alive and well?”</p>
<p>Héloïse squinted her eyes as if to scrutinise her. “Alive, <i>maybe</i>,” she smiled. “I would say that you look a little paler, presumably because you have spent every moment of daylight locked up in that laboratory or in a library.”</p>
<p>“I will tell her that you think so,” Hecate said, pleased that she could write that she could adequately look after herself with surety. Ada would have to believe her now.</p>
<p>They continued talking about Ada—for Héloïse wanted every detail of how she had coping in writing without her help, and told her she was proud of her for being brave enough to write <i>Yours</i> back, even if it was just once—and of course, for agreeing to stay with her family for Yule.</p>
<p>That evening, Hecate wrote to Ada, telling her that Nina and Héloïse had returned and took her out for a lovely lunch. She made sure to say explicitly that Héloïse had found her <i>little altered from when she left</i>.</p>
<p>Hecate updated her on the experiments, telling her of her successes and her ideas for the medicinal applications. As she wrote, she realised that her gaps in knowledge would have to be filled by a research partner—for anything less would be irresponsible use of magic—and she felt that her work needed to be supported by the reputation of an academic of much greater eminence than she. She had potentially proved herself with her present findings, and hoped that she would be able to get in contact with someone who could become a potential partner.</p>
<p>Hecate exhaled, feeling as though she needed a holiday after the week she had had. She smiled as she wrote, <i>I am looking forward very much to spending the holidays with you.</i> It would be wonderful to simply enjoy Ada’s company—and hopefully managed to find some time alone with her to speak peacefully amidst all the usual hectic Yuletide activity.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Héloïse persuaded Hecate to take a few days off, to recharge after her hard week. Nina had to catch up on her work, but Héloïse was only too happy to take Hecate around the Yule markets in the arrondissement de la sorcellerie that had appeared now that they were on the cusp of December.</p>
<p>The market stalls took over one of the streets entirely, which was closed to broomstick traffic for the occasion—altogether they felt like a vast village, with snowy thatched roofs decked with holly and twinkling lights. The smells of hot foods and drinks wafted over them, tantalising them until Héloïse bought them both crêpes filled with melted chocolate that Hecate had to admit were delicious, followed by mulled wine that steamed from their mugs as they wandered through into the crafts section.</p>
<p>The magical crafts traders had so many wonderful things that Hecate hardly knew where to look first—blown glass potions bottles so beautiful that Hecate almost bought one on the spot, before wondering how she was meant to take it home with her, magical spell focuses such as carved wands and staffs, hand-forged cauldrons, broomsticks of all shapes and sizes to suit different speeds and distances, tea blends, spice-infused chocolates, and all manner of magical children’s toys. There were also some small carved animals that reminded Hecate of Héloïse’s work, although much lower in quality.</p>
<p>“Your work would definitely sell very well here,” Hecate remarked, her cheeks warm from the mulled wine.</p>
<p>Héloïse nodded. “I have done it in the past, but this year it seemed like too much effort—the time spent producing so enough pieces that will sell to the idle browser to cover the cost of renting the space. It was quite stressful, as you can imagine.”</p>
<p>“Ah, of course,” Hecate agreed. “Your work has a great deal of care put into it. It must be hard to produce on a large scale.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I do get quite a few Yule shoppers coming into my shop, and I like to do some Yule stock items alongside my commissions—small decorations and trinkets and so on. But I much prefer coming here as a customer rather than a seller—it is much more enjoyable.”</p>
<p>Hecate definitely saw the appeal, but was troubled by quite a few items were dotted around that Hecate hoped the students of Cackle’s would never manage to get hold of anything of the sort—for they invited pranks by their nature. Magic was dangerous enough in the hands of the mischievous without vanishing-bottomed mugs, lock-blocking keys, and invisibility sweets that made your friends “disappear” to make it all too easy for them.</p>
<p>Héloïse put the idea of buying a Yule present for Ada into Hecate’s mind to distract her from the bewilderment at some of the wares they were allowed to sell to children these days—she said she was already on the lookout for something for Nina. Hecate was suitably diverted—for now she was worrying over what on earth she could get Ada that would be on par with the mantel-clock she had commissioned from Héloïse. </p>
<p>The spice-infused chocolates and tea blends seemed like a nice present to get for Ada’s mother, who was hosting her—as well as a rather lovely jar of spices that could be put into apple pie. Hecate was not sure who else would be staying, but she would most likely be brewing some thoughtful household potions for them.</p>
<p>By their third meander around the stalls—she apologised profusely to Héloïse, who was valiantly encouraging her as they went—Hecate had finally narrowed down her options. She was torn—between a lovely little cat teapot, which had cat ears sprouting from the lid and a handle formed by a curved tail—and a beautiful embroidered cloak, lined with silk, with plenty of spacious inner pockets and a hood that Hecate could imagine framing Ada’s beloved face. It was black, so could be worn for school occasions, where she would get the most use out of it—and most importantly, it was something that Ada would never buy for herself on account of its being rather dear. Hecate wondered how many teapots Ada had been bought over the years—and made the difficult decision to leave the cat teapot behind. She told the tailor Ada’s height, to which they would adjust the length, and paid, giving the address of the Académie des botanistes for the delivery to ensure that someone would be present to receive it.</p>
<p>Héloïse disappeared while Hecate was speaking to the tailor—and Hecate decided that she would try to find gifts for Nina and Héloïse while she had a few moments to herself. She had already seen a few possibilities on their way around—and settled upon for Nina, a travel botany kit, remembering what she had said about her trip to Portugal, and a letter opener for Héloïse, who had helped her so much with Ada’s letters—and so that when Hecate left Paris, Héloïse would be able to use it when they would inevitably write to one another.</p>
<p>Just as Hecate was concealing her purchases in her magically-expanded handbag, Héloïse emerged from the crowds looking pleased with herself.</p>
<p>“Did you find something for Nina?”</p>
<p>Héloïse smiled cheekily. “No—but I found something for you!”</p>
<p>Hecate shook her head adamantly. “Oh no—you need not give me anything.”</p>
<p>“I knew you would say that, and that is why I must give you something!”</p>
<p>Hecate, felt rather abashed, and could not think of anything to say in protest.</p>
<p>Héloïse suggested that they visit some of the second-hand bookshops for a change of pace, which Hecate welcomed—for she had been eyeing them every time she passed them to visit the Académie des botanistes, but had always felt that she was too busy to explore them.</p>
<p>Hecate lost herself almost immediately, in the first shop they entered, to a gorgeous cloth-bound edition of <i>Le Code des Sorcières</i>, the French Witches’ Code. Subsequently, she also fell in love with a fully illustrated <i>Dictionnaire des Herbes Magiques</i>, and a charming children’s book called <i>Cueillette de Champignons pour les Jeunes Sorcières</i>. They moved onto several other shops, each more absorbing than the next. It was difficult to extricate herself from such a treasure trove of magical texts, but Héloïse gently pried her away because she had promised to meet Nina later.</p>
<p>Héloïse took her lastly to the boulangerie of which she was so fond, and recommended all her favourites—and Hecate walked out with what felt like perhaps far too much bread for one person to eat—as well as, for good measure—several cheeses from the fromagerie next door.</p>
<p>Hecate thanked Héloïse for a lovely day out. Héloïse insisted that she should come to their house tomorrow so that they could cook dinner for her and have a relaxed evening in, which Hecate welcomed whole-heartedly.</p>
<p>Perhaps she would go back for the cat teapot tomorrow on her way to Nina and Héloïse’s. It was such a precious little thing, and she could not stop imagining it on Ada’s table in her office during their nightly meetings.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Hecate went home, happily tired out from her day—it was one of those evenings when all she wanted to do was collapse on her bed and not worry about anything else. She fed Morgana, and had a nibble of the bread and cheese that Héloïse had recommended. It was just what Hecate needed at the end of a long shopping trip—minimal preparation to think about, and both bursting full of flavour to restore her strength.</p>
<p>She decided to have an early night while she began to take down her hair slowly, letting each pin that she removed relax her more and more—and finally removed the band so it pooled down over her shoulders and back. It always felt wonderful to take her hair down at the end of the day.</p>
<p>Hecate had just prepared for bed, and slipped into her night gown, when she was confronted by Morgana leaping up onto the bed and looking up at her with her olive-green eyes, meowing demandingly. It did not seem like her usual behaviour—at least, not when she had just been fed—so Hecate watched her curiously, asking her what the matter was. Morgana twitched her tiny black nose, and an envelope appeared on the pillow next to her—from Ada. Hecate must have walked completely past it on her way upstairs in her exhaustion, and thanked her familiar for bringing it to her with a quick scritch under her chin.</p>
<p>Hecate transferred her letter opener to her hand from where it sat on her writing desk, and slit open the letter as she climbed into bed under the duvet to read it before she slept.</p>
<p><i>Dear Hecate,</i>—Ada congratulated Hecate on her progress, before beginning to describe the sleeping arrangements and who else would be coming to stay. </p>
<p>The mere thought that Ada’s mother was <i>going to make your usual room ready for you</i> made her feel warm—for it made her feel as though she were already one of the family. She found herself wondering if ever she and Ada would get to sleep in the same bed together—and imagined in her half-awake state how comforting it would be to snuggle up to her underneath heavy blankets—and how they might one year have explain this to her mother when it came to the sleeping arrangements, as eventually she might become suspicious of one empty bed or another—or even just tired of the pretence and wanting to fill the spare bed.</p>
<p>Hecate’s slight alarm over <i>Aunt Hyacinth has become a rather more exaggerated version of herself since you last saw her</i> was assuaged when she saw that Hyacinth would be on a different floor to her, and when she read of Ada’s anticipation of seeing her again. <i>My dear I am so excited to see you again soon. I have missed you more than I can say – it has been wonderful, exchanging letters, but there’s no substitute for seeing you every day.</i></p>
<p>Hecate smiled into her pillow. Ada had missed her—and she Ada. She hoped that their reunion would be every bit as sweet as she imagined, and that perhaps after all this time—looking into her eyes, she would see the emotions she had been carrying around with her reflected back.</p>
<p>Tomorrow, she would get up early—although she had nowhere in particular to go—and buy one of the grocer’s Pink Lady apples, for now she knew for certain that there was a finite number of them left before she saw her Ada once more.</p>
<p>
  <i>Yours affectionately,<br/>Ada</i>
</p>
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